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HELEN PARKER 



BY 

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CHARLES HOMER STEELE 



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Chicago <Sr New York 

The HENNEBERRY Company 

Publishers 








Thf library of 
OONGRESS, 
Two OoHES Keceived 

NOV. 29 190f 

Con'mOHT ENTRY 

CLASS Ou XXc. No. 

( ^ h s i 

COPY B. 


COPYRIGHT, igOI, BY 
CHARLES HOMER STEELE 


c c «r 

9 

9 



di-snui 


©SnopstS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Disastrous Fight 5 

II. The Death of a Laborer 14 

III. The Changing of a Life 25 

IV. A Lawyer and His Wife 32 

V. The Training of Harry Spencer 41 

VI. A Strange Meeting 48 

VII. A Conference 56 

VIII. Mr. Greene’s Logic 65 

IX. A Ball — The Merry Dance 76 

X. A Step Downward in Society 85 

XI. A Salvation Army Meeting, and a Face ... 96 

XII. Harry Spencer 108 

XIII. Harry Spencer’s Talk 118 

XIV. A Sunday Outing 129 

XV. A Department Store Clerk 146 

XVI. Mr. Greene Talks Again 156 

XVII. Special Efforts 167 

XVIII. The Lawyer and the Daughter 178 

XIX. Love — Most Wonderful — Most Mysterious . . 192 

XX. An Unhappy Recognition 205 

XXL An Unprofitable Interview 218 

XXII. Sickness 227 

XXHI. The Finding of A Is EW Place 233 

XXIV. Another Step Downward in Society .... 246 

XXV. The Leading of Fate 259 

XXVI. The Ending of an Attempted Reformation . . 271 

XXVII. Unimportant Doings of Two Tramps in Iowa . 282 

XXVIII. The Coming of a Temptation 296 

XXIX. The Outcome of it 309 

XXX. A Salvationist Appears to Harry 328 

XXXI. Jack Tarr 338 

XXXII. The Curse, at the Last, Averted .... 348 

3 




IPretace 


I do not promise to the readers of this volume a stir- 
ring romance — replete with chivalry, and bravery, and 
high-sounding words. Nor is its aim the portrayal of 
some original, quaint or strong-minded character. 
Neither is it picturesque because of beautiful scenery, 
or skillful and harmonious creations of words, and 
perhaps you will not find much of wit between its 
covers. 

It is something of the life of a wretched man; one 
of the class all too common in our cities, from whom 
we turn our eyes impatiently, or with a sigh. “God 
be thanked,” we say, “that we are not such.” 

We are part of a great world, and the dissimilarity 
of its people is that, which makes it great. Some of us, 
refined, cultured — look down, aghast, upon some who 
are coarse, ignorant and poverty-stricken. Some of 
us look, open-mouthed and cringing upon some highly 
favored personage — the son of a rich man is apt to 
pass by the grimy, sweat-covered, mechanic, loftily 
and with something of contempt, though his richness 
and luxury, small speeches and baby manners, shall 
not gain him one point over the former. And the 
man in humble estate is apt to look up at him more 
earthly favored, sourly and disdainfully though his 
own ingenuity, and active muscles, and deft fingers, 
are to avail this world only a few short years. 

I 


2 


Preface 


A human life is only a human life, be it where it 
may, until it looks up and is touched by the divine. 
In God’s eyes the quartz rock may be as precious as 
the gold. The conversation and doings of the slums 
may be as interesting as the fashions and amusements 
of the avenues. 

It is written in the Prophets, “And they shall all be 
taught of God.” “Who is a wise man and endued 
with knowledge among you? — let him show out of a 
good conversation his works.’’ 

In the consideration of the life story told herein 
then — granting it to be a worthy subject of our thought 
— may there be interest, and may there be some truths 
reflected from that book of which Sir Walter Scott 
said, “There is only one book.” 


Helen Parker 


CHAPTER I 

The six o’clock whistle in Stanley’s old iron works 
in an environs of Chicago had just blown with its 
deafening and undulating roar, the pounding and 
clanking of machinery and hammers had ceased, and 
now the men come straggling out, singly and in 
groups, but all hurrying away as though glad to escape 
from the gloomy old building. 

One of these, an active little man, as he comes out, 
by a dexterous movement strikes a match on his shoe 
and lights his pipe, then, after a jest with some one of 
a passing group, he turns down one of the intersecting 
streets, evidently to his home, puffing away content- 
edly and rapidly to keep pace with his swiftly-moving 
feet. 

An unpretentious street this, and, as he passes 
the homes of laborers, from window and open door- 
way he meets the expectant glance of wives and 
mothers. As he turns and looks back he sees a long 
array of workers following, and here and there one 
turning into his place of rest and welcome. As he 
pases a small house, a little blacker, a little more 
wretched looking, perhaps, than its neighbors, he sud- 
denly hails a little urchin who is playing in the dirt by 

5 


6 


t> Cl c n parfeer 


the side of the half-rotten sidewalk: “Hello, Johnny, 
havin’ a good time?” 

Startled by his voice, the child jumped up, but as 
he turned to the man, the fright on his face changed 
to a smile. “Yes, see my digger, that I made,’’ and 
he came eagerly to show the paddle he had been using. 

“Why, that’s so dull,’’ said the man, good- 
naturedly. “I’ll sharpen it for you.’’ 

Just then the door of the unpainted, dilapidated, 
little house in front of them opened, and a tall, thin, 
pale-faced woman stepped out, throwing her faded 
apron over her head. 

“Did you see John cornin’, Jim?’’ she asked. 

“No, I didn’t see him to-night, Mrs. Spencer; I 
walked purty fast.’’ 

“Mebby he wuz kep’ to-night, at the works.’’ 

“Yes, he might a bin,’’ replied the man, in a not 
very convincing tone. “How are you gettin’?’’ 

“A little better, I guess,’’ she replied, with a sigh. 

“You ain’t well yet, I can see.’’ 

“No, it seems like I’m so weak, and I get tired out 
so easy; mebby I’m gettin’ lazy,’’ with an attempted 
laugh. 

“No, ’tain’t that, ’tain’t that,’’ replied the man, 
reflectively. 

“Well, I must go on, or my wife’ll be jawin’ me,’’ 
and as he went on a little farther to his own home, 
there seemed to be anger upon his face, his teeth were 
set harder upon his pipe stem, and he muttered some- 
thing to himself about a “drunken brute.’’ 

The woman stood for some time as he had left her, 


Ibelen H>arfeet 


1 


peering anxiously down the street, then, with another, 
deep sigh, returned into the house. The inside was as 
the outside had indicated, poorly and scantily fur- 
nished. There were only two rooms and a sort of a 
lean-to shed at the rear. In the first room was a 
small cook stove on which the simple supper was 
cooking, a table, already set for three, an old cupboard 
with glass doors, several chairs and a sort of couch or 
small bed. The other served as bed room and boasted 
a bed, two chairs, an oval looking glass, with comb 
and brush rack underneath and several pictures upon 
the walls. The lean-to had little to boast of, indeed, 
a pile of coal in one end, a barrel filled with old 
clothes and other promiscuous articles of little value, 
a wash-boiler, hanging upon the wall, a wash-board 
and wringer beside the barrel. 

As she came inside she glanced hesitatingly about 
the room, as though at a loss what to do. Moving 
slowly over to the stove she busied herself a moment 
with the cooking, then drew up a chair, and, sitting 
down, gazed abstractedly at the glow of the fire for a 
short time; then she again went to the door. 

“Do you see him coming, Harry?” 

“No, he ain’t cornin’ yet.” 

She stood in the doorway for some time, watching 
him, and, at short intervals, glancing nervously and 
expectantly down the street. She went in and sat 
down again, and again came to the door, but still 
the expected husband was not in sight. She gave 
vent to an expression of disappointment and began to 
walk up and down the sidewalk. 


8 


ibelen par feet 


But this she could not endure long in her weak state 
and her limbs began to tremble beneath her, warning 
her that she must rest. 

“My God,” she cried, with a gesture of despair, 
“He don’t come, he’s gone again, and he said he 
wouldn’t; he promised me faithful he’d come home 
to-night, but they’ve got him again; he can’t come 
now; they’ve got him fast! Oh, dear, I don’t see why 
he can’t come! I wish I could go after him, but I 
can’t; I’m too weak. I can hardly stand. I wish you 
could go after him, Harry, but you can’t, you’re too 
young, yet; he wouldn’t come. No, we’ll just have 
to wait; we’ll just have to wait,’’ she cried, almost 
hysterically, looking down into the sturdy wondering 
face of her boy, upturned to her, “You just watch for 
him, Harry, and you come in and tell me when he 
comes,’’ and again she went into the house and closed 
the door. 

A short time the child played on, when, with the 
sudden artlessness of childhood, he seemed to weary 
of it, and, running carefully, pushed his paddle into a 
small opening under the corner of the house — his 
youthful storehouse— where it would safely await his 
pleasure. He was evidently about to go into the 
house when he suddenly thought of his mother’s 
admonition and again ran out to the sidewalk and 
looked anxiously down the street, his little face drawn 
in serious thought. 

“Guess I’d better go after him,” he declared, and, 
after a moment’s indecision, he started slowly, glanc- 
ing often backward at the house. 


Ibelen patfcer 


9 


However, as he went his courage seemed to increase, 
and he trotted on down to the works, but whatever the 
philosophy of his little brain, he passed, with only a 
roaming glance over the dark pile of buildings, and 
turned down another street. 

“Papa must be at Mike’s again — I wish there wasn’t 
any Mike — mamma said he was a bad man and his 
saloon was real bad to go to.’’ So he was soliloquiz- 
ing to himself, when he halted at the head of some 
stairs leading down into abasement saloon and billiard 
room on the windows of which, in great red letters, 
was the sign, “Mike’s Place.’’ 

“I wonder which one’s Mike,’’ he thought, with 
awe, peering down into the already lighted room. 

There were five men in the room — one, heavy set, 
with bald head and bristling reddish side whiskers, 
was industriously mopping and polishing his bar; the 
other four were playing at one of the tables. Of 
these, three were common-looking men, evidently 
laborers, the other, a tall, well-dressed young man of 
perhaps twenty-five or thirty, looking somewhat out of 
place amongst them, as his dress and manner indicated 
that he came of a higher class in society. 

“That one must be Mike, over there,’’ thought 
Harry, “and there’s papa; I thought he was here,’’ 
but still he hesitated. He had stood leaning against 
the iron railing looking down into the room as now, 
before, but always to see the tall form of his mother, 
shrinking, timidly yet swiftly, across the room to per- 
suade the father to go home. Now, he was alone, and 
in his feeling of helplessness he stood waiting as before. 


10 


Ibelen parfeet 


wishing for and almost unconsciously expecting to see 
the familiar form cross over under the light. 

But no, she does not come, the men seem to have 
stopped playing and are talking and gesticulating 
wildly. Presently one of them shakes his fist savagely 
in the face of the tall man, but in the same breath he 
is almost staggered by a fierce blow over the head 
from a billiard stick in the hands of one of the others. 

Then the tall man hastily draws a small revolver, 
but, before he can use it, the others close in upon him 
and it is wrested from him and falls to the floor. In 
the meantime it is discharged — it shatters — break- 
ing a large mirror just over Mike’s head, where- 
upon that individual hastily disappears under his 
counter. 

The fight had become a fierce hand-to-hand conflict, 
or, rather, fist-to-fist, close proximity having made the 
billiard sticks useless, and now they clinch, sway 
backward and forward for a minute, and go down, a 
struggling, swearing, mass upon the floor. 

There they lay writhing, turning, twisting, like a 
great monster of many arms and legs until, by one of 
them being suddenly stiffened, a man was forcibly 
hurled from amongst the shapeless mass and came 
helplessly rolling and tumbling, right under the win- 
dow above which the child was standing transfixed 
with terror. 

It was the tall young man, and seemingly greatly 
confused by his tumble, as he staggered to his feet, 
he pressed his hands to his head in the attempt to stop 
his whirling senses, and stood looking with almost 


Ibelen parser 


II 


ludicrous astonishment upon the combatants, evidently 
in doubt as to whether he should again join them. 

His clothes were covered with dirt and torn, his face 
scratched and bleeding, and almost purple from liquor 
and his exertions. But suddenly, as he caught sight 
of a large knife on the floor at his feet, he grew pale 
as death, and, drawing his hand across his eyes, he 
looked again — it was covered with blood. 

He picked it up and for a full half minute stood with 
his eyes riveted, unblinkingly, upon it. Then, with a 
sudden impulse thrust it under his coat and into his 
pocket, and, glancing hastily around to see if he had 
been detected, for the first time, became aware of the 
child just above him. 

Again, he seemed to be paralyzed, the color went 
from his face, leaving it chalk-like, but for a great 
drop of dark crimson blood near his ear. He stood 
transfixed even as the boy was, as though his 
frightened childish face were an apparition. But, 
breaking the spell upon him, he ran to the door, 
opened it, and, bounding up the steps, hastened down 
the street, leaving his pallor-stricken face impressed 
deeply and indellibly upon the mind of the boy. 

Indeed, Harry had been so intently watching this 
man that he had forgotten everything else, but as he 
again turned and looked down into the room, the 
others had, for some reason, ceased fighting while 
Mike was just emerging from under his bar. Two of 
the men had risen and were stupidly looking down 
upon the third who lay writhing and groaning while by 
his side was a great pool of blood, 


12 


ibelen parket 


“Oh, its papa, my papa,” cried Harry, catching his 
breath, and, almost before he knew it, before the trio 
below could realize what had happened, he ran down 
the steps and threw himself upon the prostrate form. 

“Oh, my papa, he’s hurted awful! Can’t you get up, 
papa? Oh, just see the bleed!” and, after an attempt 
to raise the injured man he began to cry as though his 
heart would break. 

By this time some one had come in and, discover- 
ing the state of affairs, in his excitement had sum- 
moned others, so that now quite a crowd was pouring 
in from the street, and tears came to the eyes of some 
of them as they saw the little fellow’s grief. Even 
Mike, hardened as he was, was momentarily affected, 
but thoughts of business soon asserted themselves. 

“Here you, Ike, do you know where he lives?” 

“Somewhere’ s near, I guess.” 

“I can show you, 1 know,” spoke up one of the men. 

“Well, you must get him home, or he’ll bleed to 
death. There’s an old door out there, Ike, and some 
of you other fellows help him,” and he began 
mechanically and vigorously, mopping the shattered 
glass off his bar. 

“Yes, yes,” spoke up another man, “get him home 
as quick as you can, and I’ll send a doctor right up to 
the house.” 

Thus admonished, there were many willing hands to 
help, and they had soon transferred the groaning man 
to the rude bier, and, with the sobbing boy in the arms 
of a rough foundryman, by its side, they moved slowly 
and carefully down the street. 


Ibelen patfeet 


13 


“Mike’s Place’’ was again open for business, and 
Mike, while setting out numerous drinks to the assem- 
bled crowd, set out also with great eloquence the par- 
ticulars of the “scrap.’’ Presently, a policeman came 
in, but, finding everything quiet and drink flowing 
freely, he listened also lo the particulars, made a note 
of the matter, took a drink and disappeared. 


CHAPTER II 


After speaking to Harry, Mrs. Spencer had sunk into 
a chair with a sigh of weariness and pain. 

“Oh, dear, I don’t see what we’ll do if he don’t 
bring some money home to-night,’’ and she glanced 
about the miserably-furnished rooms, and at the 
scantily-set table. 

“Seems like we’re about run out, with my sickness 
and all, and now’t we can’t get Allard’s or White’s 
washin’s, ’cause I missed ’em last week, an’, like 
enough, McGuires’ll quit, too.’’ 

“Oh, dear, I ain’t fit to do washin’s, anyhow. 
Seems like it ’ud kill me; it’s strange people have got 
to be sick, and so much other trouble, too, but, oh, if 
John ’ud just bring his money home I wouldn’t care 
fer anything else; if he just didn’t drink, we could be 
happy again and we’d have a-plenty,’’ and seemingly 
her mind wandered to sweeter days, for her face soft- 
ened and tears stood in her eyes. 

And then her manner slowly changed and you might 
read upon her face decreasing joy, pain, sorrow, dis- 
appointment, as she came back to the bitter present, 
until upon her features settled a look of resentment 
and in her eyes anguish gave place to anger. 

“He has no right,’’ she cried, rising to her feet and 
pacing the room with the unnatural strength of emo- 
tion, “he is just robbing him, and I can’t say a word. 


l)elen parftet 


15 


an’ seems like John can’t either. He promised me 
faithful he wouldn’t go there again to-night, and he 
meant it, too, when he said it, but they’ve got him 
agin or he’d be home. Seems like he can’t get away 
from ’em. For him to work hard all week and then 
fool it away of a Saturday night, playin’ billiards and 
drinkin’, an’ then for me to have to go down and bring 
him home, an’ put up with his drunkenness an’ he so 
cross and senseless. I wish some one ’ud just shoot 
that Mike Denney; seems like I could most do it 
myself,” and her hands clinched tightly and trembled 
from her emotions. “The scoundrel, it ’ud be a good 
riddance. I asked and pleaded for him not to sell 
John, but he only laughed and said it wuz his business 
to sell anybody. Oh, he’ll get his pay somehow or 
sometime — but, oh dear, I can’t do anything,” and, 
with the reaction coming upon her, she threw herself, 
exhausted by both mental and physical distress, upon 
the bed, and buried her face in her hands in an aban- 
donment of grief and resignation to despair. 

How long she had remained thus she did not know; 
she took no note of time, and was, for a time, if not 
unconscious, wholly apathetic to all the world and 
when she was recalled to her senses, it was by a loud 
knock upon the door, and then it opened and Harry 
came in crying, and his eyes red and swollen. 

She quickly rose to her feet. 

“Why, Harry, what ?” but her inquiry was cut 

short by the sight of a rough-looking man, who had 
stepped inside, just behind him. 

“Js this where Jack Spencer lives?” he stammered, 


i6 


/ Ibelcn iparftet 


turning horror-stricken from her white tear-stained 
face. 

“Yes, what is the matter,” she asked, anxiously, but 
as he did not reply, but only stood looking through 
the still open door, she hastened to his side. 

Just coming up to t.’ie door were the four men, carry- 
ing between them the form of her husband. 

For an instant it seemed as though she would faint, 
but the man, seeing her weakness, caught her and led 
her to a chair. 

“Oh, is he dead; is he dead? Tell me what hurt 
him.” 

“No, mum, he ain’t; he got into a fightin’ scrape 
down here to Mike’s Place an’ got stuck. The fellow 
that stabbed him skipped and nobody knowed him; 
no, he ain’t dead,” repeated the spokesman, in a 
gruff but kindly voice. 

“Now, don’t you take on; you just set still,” as she 
tried to rise to help the men who were trying to trans- 
fer the unconscious man to the bed. “I’ll help ’em; 
you ain’t well by your looks.” 

“I’ve been sick,” she repeated, mechanically, and 
she watched them as though in a dream, and even when 
Harry came and leaned upon her knee she only stroked 
his hair as though unconscious that it was he. 

The men awkwardly withdrew, making a great noise, 
it seemed to her, with their heavy boots, the spokes- 
man, however, pausing at the door, and, taking off his 
hat, said: 

“The doctor’s cornin’ just down the street, mum, an’ 
I hopes your man’ll get all right.” Then he was gone. 


Ibelen Blather 


17 

Later the doctor came, closely followed by several 
of the neighbors, who had seen the sad procession, 
and with only a glance at her, he went to work upon 
the injured man while some of the women came to her 
with questions and words of sympathy and commis- 
eration. But these she hardly seemed to hear or com- 
prehend. She sat motionless, her eyes upon the 
wounded man and following each movement of the 
doctor until when he had dressed the wound and done 
all in his power and was about to withdraw, she 
stopped him. 

“Doctor.” 

“Well.” 

“Is he — a-goin’ to die?” 

The doctor hesitated, for he feared from her manner 
and looks, the effect of his words, but, deciding it 
were better to tell her the truth, he replied in a steady, 
but kindly, tone: 

“I am sorry to say, yes; he cannot live.” 

She only sank back into the chair with the almost 
inaudible words, “1 thought so.” 

The doctor came back and conversed with one of 
the women for a few minutes, then said: 

“Madame, I am afraid you are sick; you must 
take this medicine, and then try not to do any- 
thing. Mrs. Arthurs here will stay and can do any- 
thing needful, for there’s very little that can be done, 
and I would advise you to eat some supper and then 
lie down and rest. This is a hard blow to you, I 
know, but death must come sometime. You are weak 
and almost sick, and fretting and thinking of it will be 


•fib c I e n parftet 


i8 

a peril to your health; try to think of something else 
and to ease your mind of the strain upon it.” 

Fretting — No, the doctor must have used that 
unthinkingly, for she seemed far from it. 

Silent, motionless, her eyes fixed unwearyingly 
upon the bed, seemingly almost unaffected, but that 
was outwardly, occasional gleams of the eye told of 
emotions deep and fierce struggling within. And 
that was the trouble. 

If she had shed many tears and bewailed her fate 
with wringing of hands, or had she fainted and 
remained unconscious or lapsed into hysterics, all 
would have been well and he would have thought 
little of it, but grief so unemotional and unbending 
especially in one who was so weak in body, was not 
natural, and this same unaccountable and unnatural 
calmness sometimes presaged violent insanity. 

And that was why, as he gave her the medicine, 
which she took mechanically and as though she cared 
little whether it should help her or no, his gaze 
was fixed so sternly upon her face, and he studied so 
earnestly the meaning and the reason in her eyes. 

There was nothing yet to show unsettled reason, so, 
after a few further admonitions to take it as easily as 
possible and to try and rest, he talked again with Mrs. 
Arthurs, looked again at the unconscious man and 
around the room and then departed. 

Mrs. Spencer had declined to eat; she could not, 
she said. But Harry consented, though after he had 
finished, he would not go to bed but came again and 
climbed into his mother’s lap and was soon peacefully 


Ibelen l&avket 


19 


asleep there, his little tow head upon her arm, his 
mouth partly open, his breathing deep and regular. 

Thus the hours quietly and slowly passed. The 
other women, had, one by one, gone to their own 
homes, leaving only Mrs. Arthurs sitting with a fan to 
keep the flies from the face of the injured man, when 
they were suddenly startled by a deep groan; his eyes 
slowly opened and he looked wonderingly about the 
room. 

“Oh, John,” cried Mrs. Spencer, as she hastily arose 
and put Harry down into the chair, and took one of 
her husband’s rough hands in both of hers, while the 
tears came streaming down her face. 

“What are you crying about now?” he asked, gruffly, 
struggling to rise. 

“Oh, oh — curse it all, what’s the matter of me?” 

“You got hurt, John; don’t you remember; they had 
to carry you home.” 

He knit his brows in fierce study. 

“Ouch! Damnation! Seems if I can’t move without 
it hurtin’ me. We was in a scrap down to Mike’s, 
wasn’t we?” he asked slowly. Jack Sikes called me a liar, 

and that other were mixed up in it. They were 

both cheatin’ me and Bill, an' we wouldn t stand it — 
damn me, if 1 wouldn't like to know who give me this. 
Oh, if I could get at him.” 

He had been talking as though to himself, but, 
in his excitement and anger, he tried to raise his 
hand, and so became again aware of his wife’s 
presence. 

“Oh, John!” but she could not go on, but weeping 


20 


Ibelen parfeet 


violently, she leaned over the bed and kissed his 
rough, white face. 

“What Mary, why do you feel so bad?” 

“Oh, John — you must know it — the doctor said — 
said you couldn’t live.” 

“What — what — me die?” and, in spite of his weak- 
ness, he rose to a sitting posture, his face ghastly, 
but he only sank back with a groan. She had buried 
her face in her hands to shut his despairing look from 
her sight. 

The thought of death had come to her, as it just now 
had come to him — as a terrible, unexpected blow. 
Man must die — sometime — is proved each day of man’s 
existence, but when that indefinite sometime is 
changed to the definite reality, how sudden it seems 
and how unprepared we are to welcome it. 

In her discouragement and sickness she had looked 
upon death even as a relief, but now how awful it was. 
The thought made her shudder. What if she were 
lying there cold and stiff in death as he must shortly, 
and little Harry was sitting looking at her or maybe 
talking to her, trying to wake her. 

How terrible that he should go unprepared. The 
thought of death was bringing convictions of a future 
life and of a need of preparation, that she had never 
felt before. He was going away soon, forever; what 
could she say to him; what would do for parting 
words. Nothing on earth could be of much interest 
to him, now, for he was so soon to leave them all 
His form would soon be as unconcerned and unaffected 
by their little home, by the weather, by the neighbors, 


Ibelen Ibarfeer 


21 


by his wages, or even by little Harry and herself, as 
the damp, dew-covered earth outside. 

With these thoughts whirling through her brain, 
came the awful conviction pressing upon her heart. 
Any of these remarks of their environment were too 
trivial and unsatisfying for this occasion. She had 
nothing to say to him; she dare not look up into his 
face. 

“Die — my God — it cannot be!” he cried out again 
in husky tones, making another mighty, but unsuc- 
cessful, effort to rise. 

“ If I ain’t,” and then he was still again. 

Oh what could she do; he might even now be leav- 
ing her. Couldn’t Mrs. Arthurs help her. She turned 
partly around but could not see her. Harry was sit- 
ting sleepily nodding upon the chair. Oh, why was 
he so still; what was he thinking of; she must look 
up. 

He was steadily regarding her with almost an expres- 
sion of fierceness and she quailed before it. 

“Mary,” and again she was constrained to meet his 
gaze. 

“I’m sorry I went to Mike’s; I told you I wouldn’t, 
an’ then I went — But it can’t be helped, an’ I’ll 
never go there agin, yer can count on me this time, 
Mary,” with a feeble smile upon his white face. 

“D Mike for keeping such a hole, anyhow, and 

curse me fer being such a fool,” he cried fiercely, and 
then he became calm again. 

“Mary, in that ’ere pocket o’ my pants you oughter 
find some money, if they din’t snipe it all,” and his 


22 


Ibeleh IPatfeet 


face darkened. “Look and see; you’d better; I wish 
I had more to leave you; I “ 

“Never mind that, now,” cried the heart-broken 
wife, “you mus’ say good-bye to Harry,” and she 
lifted the sleepy boy up to him. 

He seemed greatly affected as he drew the boy’s 
face down to his own and whispered a last farewell. 
The tears came into his eyes. Then, releasing him 
from the embrace he stroked his head feebly and lay 
gazing upon the innocent young face as though forget- 
ful of all else. 

“Mary, I ain’t done right by you an’ the kid — I 
wish’t I’d done different; I wish the rent wer’ paid an’ 
you wer’ feeling better.” 

“But, John,” cried the wife, desperately, “think o’ 
yourself; what’ll become o’ you — what — Oh, my God, 
I wish I knew what to say to you — don’t worry about 
us but think o’ yourself, John.” 

For a moment he lay still, his face growing more 
and more ghastly, his breath coming harder and 
harder. 

“Curse it. I’m going straight to hell,” he cried, 
with startling certainty. 

“Oh, John!” 

“It’s so; if there’s a hell or a heaven. I’m going to 
hell; I ain’t fit for nowhere else; you know that as 
well as I do — drinkin’, fightin’, gamblin’, swearin’, all 
my life — what a cursed fool I’ve been,” he replied, 
slowly and steadily. 

“Oh, if I had more time, may the devil catch who- 
ever it was stabbed me, curse him, oh 


Tbelen parfeet 


23 


curse him; may his carcass burn in hell — Oh, I’ll see 
him there; he drinks; he fights; he cheats and mur- 
ders; he’ll go where I do; he won’t escape me; I’ll 
have my revenge.” 

He was sinking, his breath was coming in gasps, 
and, as he laughed in mad exultation, it was with a 
whistling, grating sound. 

“Oh, I’ll see him; he’ll be damned; if they don’t 
hang him he’ll die a worse death; he’s cursed and he’ll 
be cursed forever!” 

He paused a moment, panting for breath. 

‘‘Oh, it’s awful; I’m going; I’m going!” 

‘‘John, can’t you pray; can’t you do something,” 
cried the woman, in a choking voice, but he seemed 
not to hear her, but lay writhing with terrible curses 
pouring from his white, drawn lips. 

‘‘I’m going; I’m going; hold me; hold me back; 
catch hold of me! 

‘‘Oh ” he screamed, clutching her hand with all 

the power he possessed. How terrible to feel his life 
ebbing away; his soul departing with no power to 
hold it; — his words grow fainter an dfainter until inau- 
dible, and yet his lips move in curses against God and 
man until of a sudden they grow rigid in death! 
How terrible his ghastly, death-hued face; the glaring 
eyeballs; the expression, of terror and hatred; the 
twisted body; the clenched hands! 

How terrible to the wife! She shudders and yet is 
fascinated by the awful agony of his face. 

‘‘Oh, my God,” she moaned, as the last convulsion 
seized him, and she buried her face in the bed clothes, 


24 


t)elen patfeet 


“But no — I have no God — he had no God — Oh, if 
he’d only knowed about God, or if I could only a told 
him!” 

Then she felt someone place a hand upon her shoul- 
der and Mrs. Arthurs, with tears in her eyes, bent over 
and whispered: 

“You had better go out into the other room now and 
take Harry.” 

Seeing that the end was near she had gone for her 
husband and another neighbor, and now, after urging 
and accompanying the wife and child into the other 
room, she returned to assist them in dressing and lay- 
ing out the body. 


CHAPTER III 


Harry was frightened and crying, and this fact 
recalled Mrs. Spencer’s attention to him. She 
undressed him, and, putting him in the little cot, sat 
down close by to reassure and comfort him, but the 
death scene had made a vivid and deep impression 
upon him and had driven sleepiness from his eyes and 
thoughts. 

“Why did papa look so,’’ he asked, over and over 
again. 

“He is dead, Harry!’’ 

“Does everybody look that way when they die, and 
what made him say such bad words, mamma?’’ 

She did not answer; she could not. 

“I don’t ever want to die — But he said he was 
going to hell and he would see that bad man that 
hurted him, there; 1 don’t see how he could when he 
died.’’ 

It was a hard question for her; she looked down into 
his anxious face for a moment, then replied slowly: 

“When you die, the part of you that’s alive goes off 
to another place, ’way off somewhere, we don’t know 
where, but your body stays here; your arms, and legs, 
and head, and all, only it’s dead; you can’t think or 
talk any more.’’ 

“Will I have to die, mamma; will the part of me that 
talks go away sometime?’’ 

25 


26 


Ibelen iPatF^et 


“Yes, child; everbody has to die — sometime.” 

“Oh, my, and will I have to go to hell, too; papa 
didn’t want to go; he wanted you to hold him; but 
you couldn’t; it must be an awful bad place?” 

“Oh, no, no,” cried the mother, emphatically, 
clutching him to her. “You mustn’t think of such a 
thing.” 

“But why did papa have to go there, then," per- 
sisted the child. “He said he was going and that that 
bad man was going, and Mike — Oh, you won’t let 
me go there, will you?” 

“No, no — My God, you’ll set me crazy, and, ris- 
ing, she began pacing the floor, unmindful of weakness. 

“I guess that man knew he was going there, ’cause 
he looked awful scared and white, just like papa did; 
but Mike didn’t look that way; is he going there, do 
you think?” 

“Yes.” 

“Where will you go, mamma, and me; I’d like to 
know; I want to go where you go — I won’t die ’till 
I get to be a real big man though, will I?” 

“No, no, no,” cried the mother, desperately and 
earnestly, and sitting down again beside him, she told 
him as best she could, of that other and better place 
called heaven, where some people go, and what a 
beautiful place it is, while Harry lay back drinking 
it in, in the faith and credulity of childhood, his eyes 
shining, his face aglow with interest. 

As for her, there were conflicting emotions fighting 
within; she was surprised at herself that she knew so 
rpuch of the wonderful city, and that here she was 


Ibelen Parker 


27 


telling her child about it, and the angels and God — 
Did she believe in those things? She could hardly 
say; they did not seem untrue, as she spoke of them — 
but, if she did, how little they had influenced her life. 
When had she learned those thoughts and theories of 
eternal life? Not since her marriage; back, back, they 
must have come from early youth; yes, she had heard 
such things then from her mother, and she could still 
remember the death, when she was a girl of fourteen, 
of that mother, how calm and peaceful it had been, 
and how she had called her, with the other children, 
and asked them all to meet her in the better world. 
She must have believed in it, then. What — oh, what 
could she have been thinking of all these years? But 
her mother — there came to her as she talked, the pic- 
ture of that once-loved face; she thought of it now as 
illumined, smiling, beautiful, surrounded by the angels 
— and, almost unconsciously and with unconscious 
beauty she was picturing in words the scene impressed 
upon her mind. 

“Oh, mamma,” Harry cried, “I want to go there 
when I die; can’t I — We will go there, won’t we?” 

She did not answer; could she; what must she do — 
She had told Harry that only good people could go 
there, but — ” 

“Mamma,” interrupted Harry, “why didn’t you tell 
papa about heaven; why didn’t he be good, so he 
could go there?” 

“I don’t know,” she replied, huskily, and getting 
up, began again to pace backward and forward. His 
awful cursings came ringing in her ears as she thought 


28 


Ibelen iParfeet 


of him. Visions of his ghastly face and his writhing, 
struggling body arose before her eyes. She shud- 
dered, and said: 

“My God, it’s awful — Oh, he tried hard to hold 
back; but it was no use, and I couldn’t say a word! 
“An’ he were certain he were going to the bad 
place; people must know when .they die, ’cause my 
mother seemed not a bit scared o’ dyin’ but sure she 
wer’ going right to heaven. I wonder where I’d 
a-been if I’d a-died instead of him; seems to me like 
I’d have prayed.’’ Ah, the conviction comes upon 
her; she was not fit for the better world, but she must 
not go to the other — nor Harry. 

Fiercely the battle raged within her; a battle of 
giants; of habits and convictions, good recollections 
and evil recollections of the past, the city of death, 
and the city of joy in the future; the opportunity and 
the weakness of the present, till, at last, with tears 
coursing down her cheeks she knelt by the bedside — 
where Harry, fallen asleep, was unconsciously smiling 
— even as she kneeled she could not forbear pressing a 
kiss upon his lips— and then with a passionate mother’s 
words she asked the mighty God to save him — and 
her; to forgive her, and to help her understand how to 
be good. 

I would pray if I wer’ dying an’ I’ll pray now, was 
her simple doctrine and somehow the ray of light and 
hope that had come to her through her distress 
sufficed, and there came presently the answer — the 
Holy Spirit, with its assurance, and peace, and joy, how 
great — She arose, her face brightened and changed. 


tbelen patfeet 


29 


The sun of another day was just rising and Mrs. 
Arthurs came in and said: 

“Well, I must go home and get breakfast for my 
man so he can go to work, but I’ll try to get Mrs. 
Barker or someone to come right over.” 

“No, they will all have to get their breakfasts, and 
I — but if you will tell Mrs. Adams to come right 
after breakfast, and — and bring her Bible. I thank 
you an’ your man, Mrs. Arthurs,’’ she said simply, 
her plain face somehow gloriously re-enforcing the few 
spoken words. 

“That’s all right, and I couldn’t do much for you,” 
she stammered, looking into Mrs. Spencer’s face with 
surprise. “Seems to me you are — oh — taking it easier 
than you wuz at first.’’ 

“Yes, ’cause I’ve got God to help me stand it now.’’ 

“Oh,’’ and her face took on an expression of 
incredulity. “I must go, and I’ll tell Mrs. Adams for 
you.’’ 

How little does the death of one affect this great 
world of ours, where it is said each second a soul loos- 
ened from the body of this death, glides away, unseen 
and almost unnoticed, to the unknown beyond! How 
little, even if he be a man of importance and fame; 
how infinitely little, if he be a grimy laborer, wretched 
and drunken! 

And yet, even such leave a vacancy, a place, to be 
filled by another, and one of the wonders of this earth 
is that it is so easily and quickly filled; someone, 
although seemingly different, has been all uncon- 
sciously developing and training for that very place. 


30 


Ibelen patfeer 


A laborer dies, another can do his work; a doctor 
dies, young men are busy studying and learning the 
art; someone will step forward, the world shall not 
lack for doctors; a learned man expires, a younger 
man is pressing forward in search of still greater 
thoughts; the world does not lose its wisdom. A good 
man dies, some child is being carefully reared, is 
strengthening a character of truth and virtue, that the 
world may not grow worse; a wretched drunken out- 
cast perishes, some boy is being dragged rapidly down 
from the beauty and innocence of childhood and 
stands red-faced and trembling, ready to rush in and 
take his place; one generation crowds another out of 
the way; death means opportunity to the living; there 
is a quick, unhesitating rush for his or her place, and 
the earth whirls on unmindful. 

But even the worst of men leave a sorrowing heart, 
somebody or something, to mourn them for a time, be 
it only a hungry dog which, wont to follow at its mas- 
ter’s heels, goes searching, sniffing, everywhere, or 
sits and howls in its loneliness; be it only a faithful 
horse, which turns its head in expectation and whin- 
neys, and yet, no master comes; be it a care-worn 
woman, who has borne his sorrow, his shame, his pov- 
erty, his cares. 

John Spencer had died, and though a few lines 
sufficed to tell it in the papers, though some as they 
read said to themselves, if they said anything: “Good 
riddance; the world is better off without such drunken 
roughs; yet, his death effected a change, which, so in- 
finitesimal to the world, seemed very important to a few. 


Ibelen parfeet 


31 


To Mrs. Spencer and Harry the world seemed to 
have changed. The pain and misery he had caused 
them, but could not cause again, were forgotten; but 
they recalled and missed his better traits, those things 
that it was possible to admire and care for in his 
past; what affection he had had toward them. A new 
hand came to the works. The neighbors were wont to 
say for a time: “How strange not to see John cornin’ 
home from his work.” The little children spoke in 
low, awed, tones of Harry Spencer’s father being 
dead. 


CHAPTER IV 


Two elfish little bootblacks, shuffling along the 
street in the careless manner of those who have no 
destination, have turned their attention, for the 
moment, to a drunken man just ahead of them and are 
exchanging shrewd, but uncouth, remarks, and laugh- 
ing immoderately in their shrill, harsh voices, at his 
expense, while he pauses in his unsteady walk, at 
intervals, to turn and regard them with the question- 
ing, stupid look of an inebriate. 

How varied we creatures are — tears come to the eyes 
and sorrow to the face of an old woman as she passes 
them, two richly dressed girls shrug their shoulders, 
pull aside the irskirts and giggle, a sharp-faced woman 
mutters something in disgust, an elderly merchant 
pauses to laugh at the “boys,” one passes with a smile 
at the ludicrousness of the man’s actions, and another 
at the antics and laughter of the “little devils” behind, 
some pass thoughtless and uncaring, one man calls out 
to another: “There’s Lawyer Parker drunk, as usual — 
now watch him get on that car; see that, isn’t he 
spry,’’ and they laughed as he fumbled with his feet 
at the steps, and, as a moment later, standing un- 
steadily upon the rear platform, he was drawn from 
their view and their thoughts. 

But let us follow him. 

As he alights in front of the large brown-stone resi- 
32 


Tpelen ©avfter 


33 


dence, on the front door of which is the inscription, 
L. A. PARKER, a policeman, who was just then 
standing upon the opposite corner, hurried across the 
street and intercepted him. 

The two were evidently acquaintances, for Mr. Par- 
ker extended his hand. 

“How do, Mike, where the d ’ve you been keep- 

ing yourself lately?” 

“Most anywhere — But Mr. Parker, I have orders to 
arrest you.” 

“What!” gasped the intoxicated man, w^eakly. 

“I came to arrest you!” 

“What for — why should you arrest me?” 

“I hate to do it, Mr. Parker, but it’s because I have 
to,” he replied, steadily. “It’s on the charge of forg- 
ing some notes; you’ll go along quietly, won’t you?” 

“Yes — hold on — let me think,” and, turning, he sat 
down upon the edge of the curbing and pressed his 
hands upon his head. Thus he sat motionless and 
silent, so long that the officer was about to make his 
presence and intentions again known, when he sud- 
denly looked up, seemingly greatly sobered and 
changed in that brief interval, and asked in a husky 
tone: 

“You want me to go with you, Mike?” 

“Yes, you will have to go with me!” 

“Can’t I go over and say good-bye; you can go 
along and I won’t try to get away.” 

“Yes, if I go with you,” replied the officer, hesi- 
tatingly, “I guess it would be all right.” 

“You know me, Mike; it’ll be all right,” he said in 


34 


t^elen Ibarhet 


a reassuring tone, and then, before they reached the 
door, he stopped: 

“It’s a deucedly hard job; won’t you kind of explain 
to ’em — to her, I mean.” 

“Yes, I suppose I can,” with a grim smile. 

Just then the door opened and several richly-dressed 
ladies emerged. 

“Hold on, let them get away, hope to that’s all 

of them,” he cried angrily. 

“We’d better go in,” he continued after a moment’s 
wait, and, wiping the perspiration from his brow he led 
the way up the steps and opened the door. Ringing 
the bell for a servant, he inquired unceremoniously 
for his wife; was she in the parlor; was she alone; the 
girl did not know. 

Turning, he led the way down the hall, until he 
halted before a curtained door and again wiped the 
perspiration from his forehead. 

“ me, but I hate to,” he whispered huskily. 

“Come right in behind me now, and explain it to 
her — she’s alone,” he continued, after taking a long 
survey of the room through the parted draperies. 
“Come on, now.” 

As the two men entered, Mrs. Parker raised her eyes 
and, seeing one of them a stranger, instinctively 
received him with the self-possession and calmness of 
a society lady. But her face evidently darkened; 
what was a policeman doing here in her house; what 
could her husband mean by bringing him in to her. 

“Sir, to what are we indebted for this visit; Leslie, 
what does this mean?” 


Ibeien parher 


35 


At her question the unhappy man turned to the 
policeman appealingly, and he, inwardly cursing such 
a cowardly man, fumbling his cap in his hands and 
shifting from one foot to the other, replied: 

“Mum, your husband is arrested for forging.” 

“He is arrested,’ she cried, in surprise, her face 
paling. 

“Yes, mum, for forging notes and getting money on 
’em.” 

“Oh,” and she turned and looked upon her husband 
as though she would penetrate through and through him. 

Mrs. Parker was as her husband: tall, not over 
twenty-five, with dark hair and eyes, with features 
strong and regular; one might say beautiful, but with 
a nature plainly proud and self-willed to complement 
them. 

“Is that so; have you done that?” she asked, in a 
sharp tone. 

“Yes,” he replied, in an unsteady voice. He cojjld 
not deny it, though it were sealing his doom, but he 
did not raise his eyes from the carpet. 

Sorrow, pain, despair, regret, might each and all 
have struggled within her, but it was with a voice of 
concentrated anger and shame, and with flashing eyes, 
that she spoke: 

“You cowering wretch, how dared you; no wonder 
you’re afraid to look up; isn’t it enough to get drunk 
and go staggering around, looking like a fool, without 
forging notes and getting arrested, so I’d be the talk 
of the town, as the wife of a thief and a jail-bird — 
Wretch — ^I hate you.” 


/ 


36 feelen patfeet 

Seemingly aroused by this abuse, the lawyer replied, 
“Josie, I know it’s a bad go, but you had to have 
money and I couldn’t get it any other way.” 

“What, you lay it onto me; it was because I needed 
it; you did it for my sake; I say, Lem Parker, you 
spent it gambling and drinking; if you’d straighten up 
and go to work you could make some money honestly, 
other men do.” 

‘‘I suppose there was no excuse,” he replied, with a 
sigh, “but we both needed money and that was the 
easiest way to get it and so I did it, and it can’t be 
helped.” 

“No, it can’t; you might have known this would 
happen when you did it; I won’t dare to go on the 
street; what’ll Browns think, anyhow; and Simpsons, 
and Hayes, and Johnstons; dear me, what can 1 do!” 

“D Browns, and Johnstons, and Simpsons, and 

the whole tribe,” cried the lawyer, in a passion, and 
seeming to forget his shame. “Tell ’em it was me 
that did it, not you; they can’t blame you; that’s all 
you care about — what’ll they think about this and 
what’ll they think about that. If 1 can just make 
them think I’m rich. If you can get a new hat like Mrs. 
Johnston’s, or only just give such a sweet little tea as 
Mrs. Simpson’s, or if you could have just such a fat 
nigger waiter as Brown has, you would be happy and 
all them working and worrying to keep up a goody- 
goody, honey-coated, gold and silver front for you to 

look at, and admire, and make a fuss over — D 

hypocrites! 

‘‘I don’t mind telling you that that Cy. Brown, who 


Delen Iparker 


37 


you think is so d aristocratic and so stylish, makes 

his money by running two or three saloons that 1 drink 
at, and billiard rooms that 1 play at. He’s just as much 
a wretch and a scoundrel as I am, and he’ll go to hell 
just as quick ” 

“Why, Lem Parker, how dare you talk so, about 
him?’’ 

“About him — oh, yes — he’s got money; he’s got a 
nice house and some lovely horses; he don’t get drunk 
if he is getting rich from other people drinking; he 
don’t gamble away his money if he does rake it in 
from us common fools; he’s aristocratic; he’s way up 
in society — Say, why don’t you call me aristocratic — 
1 drink his whisky and that ought to be right in 
style.’’ 

“Here you, policeman,’’ cried the wife, her eyes 
blazing, her hands clenched, “take that man,’’ and 
she emphasized the man, “right out of here.’’ 

“Josie,’’ he continued, in a quieter tone, “I came to 
say good-bye to you and Helen.’’ 

“You can’t see Helen,’’ she cried. 

“See here,’’ he replied, “I’m going to see Helen 
before I go; send for her or I will go up to her.’’ 

For a moment she stood as though to defy him, but, 
seeing he was determined, she said, “You shan’t go 
up there,’’ and, stepping to a speaking tube that com- 
municated with the nursery, she ordered the child to 
be brought down. 

The interval that elapsed seemed an age, probably, 
to all three, not a word was spoken; the policeman sat 
alternately gazing about the richly-furnished room. 


38 


t)elen p a v fe e r 


and at the carpet; the lawyer, at intervals, turned his 
eyes toward his wife, but she stood waiting, in pre- 
tended unconsciousness of both. 

At last, the door opened and a young French gov- 
erness appeared, leading by the hand a beautiful little 
girl of five years. She evidently had taken after her 
mother; her hair was not quite so dark, nor her eyes, 
but her features were similar and one could judge 
even, at this early age, somehow from her movements 
or the toss of her long curls, that her temperament was 
also similar. Her dress was of a pretty striped brown, 
and, reaching barely to the knees, showed her slender, 
well-dressed, legs, while her little arms were bare 
almost to the elbow, except for a ruffle of fine lace. 
Altogether, she was a dainty little creature as she 
stood looking wonderingly from one to the other, 
especially, and with awe, upon the policeman whom 
the nurse had always used as an object of intimidation. 

The lawyer gazed upon her fondly and admiringly. 
He had always loved her seemingly more than anyone 
else; she had been the only pride of his life, and, 
though he did not get to see her very often, he always 
watched her eagerly when it was his privilege. The 
happiest times of his life seemed, strangely enough, 
some Sunday afternoon when he could take her for a 
walk, listen to her countless questions and watch her 
little form dancing along by his side. 

He arose and started to her but was stopped by the 
sneering tones of the wife: 

“I am opposed to having my daughter even touched 
by a thief.” 


I^elen parfeet 


39 


He had almost forgotten in his admiration of the 
child, his awful mission, and now, like a lightning 
flash, it came back to him, and together with the cold 
words of his wife, and the sickening sensation of his 
shame, it seemed as though he had been struck a blow 
in the face. 

“How can you talk that way before her,” he cried, 
his face paling. 

Helen was looking up into his face with surprised 
eyes, and, being painfully conscious of the scornful 
eyes of the wife, and the prying, inquiring, looks of 
the governess, upon him , knowing that each of his 
movements was being watched hawk-like, he felt it 
almost impossible to take leave thus of his child. 
But, with a sudden impulse he snatched her up and 
pressed her to him, his eyes streaming with tears. 

Mrs. Parker opened her mouth as though to speak 
again but thought better of it, or some better impulse 
checked her, and presently he released the child with 
a faint farewell and turned to her, drying his eyes. 

But, though silenced, she was not softened. This 
man had been for a long time a humiliation to her 
pride, an impediment to her progress in society, and a 
terrible drawback to her present standing; but now, 
this awful disgrace to cap the climax. Already she 
had thought of a hundred remarks and queries that 
would be in circulation the next day; she had pictured 
in her mind the big head-lines in the papers, and the 
sensational accounts. Some of them, no doubt, would 
tell all about the arrest and the parting between him 
and his family. They would get it out of that police- 


40 


Ibelen iPatfeet 


man and then add to it. Some of them would bring 
up that that was worst of all, their financial circum- 
stances — how much they were in debt, how prosperous 
Lawyer Parker had been until drink had reduced him 
to poverty — and, to meet the extravagant wishes of his 
wife, he had, in desperation, taken to forging notes. 
It was gall and bitterness to her whole nature — she 
hated him. 

So, as he turned to her, with eyes still dimmed with 
tears and all his better impulses and desires aroused, 
he was, as it were, frozen by her cruel, cold, steady look. 

An imprecation came to his lips as he turned to the 
policeman: “Well, Pm ready now, Mike. Good-bye, 
Josie,” he added, in the same tone, and speaking over 
his shoulder. 

“Well, it is good-bye,” was the answer. “For 
good, too; you need never come back; I’ll have a 
divorce before you get out.” 

He turned to her with a pale face, “Is that so? 

“Yes, that’ s so; if you can’t support us without 
stealing you needn’t try,” she replied, with inconceiv- 
able bitterness. 

Again it seemed as though he would answer with an 
oath, but he started toward the door with a longing, 
lingering look at the wondering child. 


CHAPTER V 


Unstopped by rude cottage walls, unseen by the 
watchers, unfelt and unnoticed by the sleeping child, 
something had come — thrilling, penetrating, with 
marvelous power, through Mrs. Spencer’s being — 
something, not coming from the soul that had fled, not 
produced by the mystery of death, not sorrowful and 
despairing, not insensate, deadening, but something 
alive, comforting, lifting up — coming from Him in the 
sky who had not unemotionally, not unpityingly, 
watched her sorrow, felt her fears and heard her 
words. 

How strange that man should live, year in and year 
out, in this vineyard of God’s, cultivating, reaping 
the harvest, eating, hoarding all, unmindful of the 
Master’s share, unheeding his calls, repulsing his mes- 
sengers, unearing of the warning of death or expulsion 
from the vineyard into wretchedness, careless of his 
message of forgiveness and love, disliking those who 
would serve the Master; counseling with the rebel- 
lious, driving away the Son as He yet comes with par- 
don, unmoved by his eternal cry in the agony of death: 
“Forgiv'e them!” 

How strange that man should have turned from God 
to worship a stone; a substance, a toad, a cow; and, 
yet the whole dark past stand forth to prove it, and to 
throw a greater beauty on the Christian era coming — 

41 


42 


Ibelen parfeet 


so now the dark terrible death of the laborer would 
throw in greater contrast the beautiful new life that 
comes to the wife — his wretched, seemingly useless 
existence by its shadow helped strengthen a seed of 
Godliness, that, when started, would branch out in 
beauty and strength, here and there, as the ages pass 
away. 

Mrs. Spencer was an ignorant, unrefined, foundry- 
man’s wife, but there came to her this feeling of won- 
der at herself, and awful regret, unavailing, only as it 
is taken note of and remembered by one more than 
human. Her marriage to John Spencer had been, 
from the first, injurious to better impulses, for, though 
clever, he had always been wild and irreverent, and 
uncaring of churches and such, and she, with her 
mother dead, and cut off from all other family ties, had 
come into sympathy with him. 

Then, for years, he had been descending, weaken- 
ing, becoming more and more helpless in his slavery 
to drink and to the fascination of gambling, and she 
all these years living and striving with him, enduring 
pain and disappointment and poverty, in her own 
strength, existing almost without what the world calls 
pleasure. Her mind rarely penetrated outside of the 
humble little street on which they lived, she neighbored 
only with a few of the nearest neighbors, lived with 
an apathy to the great and elevating philosophies, 
sciences, literature and philanthropies of the world, 
almost equal to that of the great, gentle-eyed draft 
horses as they went clattering up and down the pave- 
ment each night and morning to their work, until, 


Ibelen pathet 


43 


following him, as he left her, into the great eternity its 
awfulness had startled and awakened her. 

The sinner is blinded, the saint has open vision,* the 
sinner is dead, the believer is alive unto God; the 
wicked man lives and walks in darkness, the Christian 
walks in the light. As the revealing, penetrating life 
had come to her as she read in the Bible she had 
procured, the high thoughts, the beautiful ideals, the 
comforting words, she felt this press heavily upon 
her; she had been unaccountably blinded; she had 
been in darkness and poverty, where she might have 
had light and understanding; she had been narrow and 
weak where she could have had happiness and aid; her 
life had been a miserable failure. 

What might the Gospel have done for her husband, 
might she have been more efficient in lifting him up if 
she had been standing on the better foundation her- 
self, could she have pointed the way to him, could she 
have said something in those last moments that would 
have dispelled those horrible curses which set so 
heavily upon her, and that seemed so vividly impressed 
upon Harry’s mind — these things she thought of as 
another day and night passed, until the funeral, and, 
when the husband had been consigned to earth and 
they were alone in the little house with all the dread 
of loneliness upon them, she sank upon the floor and 
wept passionately and with a grief that seemed only 
calmed by the efforts of Harry, who raised her head, 
and, rubbing her cheeks with his chubby hands, 
soothed her to the best of his ability. 

But now she could not long sit inactive, however great 


44 


1b e I e n parser 


her grief; and, whatever the thoughts of the past, the 
future, with all its questions, was before her; death 
had changed the physical surroundings of herself and 
Harry; she could look no longer expectantly down 
toward the works; she must depend upon herself, 
adjust herself to a different environment and be a 
father and mother to her boy. 

The rent on their house was due and she had only 
three dollars that had remained of her husband’s 
wages to pay it, so she disposed of their furniture and 
household goods and paid the balance and also a bill 
for groceries that was owing at a store near by, which 
diminished this dearly-bought sum to a handful, that 
to some would have been regarded as a desperately 
small and insufficient amount to begin, as it were, the 
battle of life. 

But Mrs. Spencer was, when aroused, a woman of 
energy, she had seen the hard side of life, and, having 
had of late to support the family to a great extent, by 
doing washings for several families of more prosperous 
merchants who lived near by, until her sickness had 
deprived her of their custom, she felt that now she 
could make a living in that way, if she could find a 
neighborhood in which there w^ould be that sort of 
work for her. 

So, clutching this small remnant of their fortune 
tightly in her hand, and breathing a prayer to that 
Being whom she had lately learned to confide in, she 
left Harry with Mrs. Adams one afternoon and set out 
upon her search, and, after considerable trouble, she 
succeeded in finding a place that suited her. 


Ibelen parser 


45 


It was a small room in a richer part of the city, 
rented by a seamstress, a poor widow, like herself, 
who gained her living by doing plain sewing and by 
the re-renting of this room; and, so it was that, upon 
the third day after the funeral, she was taking leave of 

a little group of womcii m B street, and that 

with tears in her eyes, she set out for this new place, 
leading Harry by the hand. 

Mrs. Brown, for this was the seamstress’ name, upon 
learning of her late affliction, was very kind, and, by 
telling the story to several of her patrons, secured 
their washing for her, or, when there was no work for 
a day or two she would have her help on the sewing in 
part-payment of her rent. 

And so here she came to be happier, perhaps, than 
she had been for years; poor, yet never harassed by 
poverty, working hard, and yet, as she came tired and 
discouraged, perhaps, from some hard day’s washing 
into Mrs. Brown’s cozy little rooms, for they had soon 
come to live together as though one family, to find 
her ever quietly sewing, and little Harry running to 
meet her, she was cheered and strengthened greatly, 
and then the evening came in contrasting quiet, rest- 
fulness and enjoyment. 

Mrs. Brown was a quiet gentlewoman of consider- 
able education and of seemingly never-failing patience 
and charity, and her manner and words served always 
to quell any discontent or anger engendered by the 
selfishness and thoughtlessness with which she came 
in contact so often. 

She had started Harry to school and he was ever 


46 


Ibelen parser 


ready to tell of some school-boy adventure or of some 
strange or exciting thing he had seen or heard of, and 
to show her his lessons for the day. Then, after sup- 
per, she would read awhile in the Bible, or, perhaps, 
from some religious paper or sermon, Mrs. Brown 
listening with her busy needle still going, and Harry in- 
terrupting now and then to ask some question, or speak 
of some suddenly thought-of incident that must be told. 

Sometimes kind people, finding she had a son, would 
give her some of their children’s toys or story books 
for him, and, as she read these books, Harry’s joy 
seemed complete, for, like many another child, his 
interest in the heroes and heroines was almost 
pathetic. Then, Sundays were beautiful, quiet days 
to them; they always attended the services at the 

Methodist Church, near by, where they had 

soon gained friends and sympathizers, some being 
from those most noble people, the unselfish rich. The 
rest of the day was spent, generally at home, in that 
quiet, content and peace, which is true happiness. 

So the change in Mrs. Spencer had been radical, 
once for all. Though she had been very ignorant of the 
things of God, not even having had a Bible, she now 
studied it faithfully, and found therein each day as 
new hope of life, though she had been criminally care- 
less and thoughtless. Now, each day had its medita- 
tion and prayer, belief had driven out unbelief, the 
love of Christian fellowship had come to fill a vacancy, 
the soul so well-nigh perished was alive and glowing. 

And to her, that her son should develop religiously 
was of as much, yes, more importance, t:han that he 


Ibelen parftet 


47 


should broaden out and grow heavier, physically, and 
as he would do one with good food and exercise, she 
saw that he did not lack for that which should stimu- 
late the other. 

Thoughts of her husband were always as spurs to 
her, and so, above all, she strove to teach him that he 
should cling to religion as the pearl of great price, 
that none should wrest it from him. She tried to bal- 
ance his mind unswervingly upon those great moral 
questions that would, in the future, come up in varied 
and multitudinous shapes to test his judgment. She 
strove not only that he should be educated and cul- 
tured and refined in manner, that he might be able to 
move in the better class of society, but she sought to 
interest him in their society, that he should become 
accustomed to it and look upon it as his natural place. 
She thus endeavored to instill into his mind those 
ideas of morality, of unselfishness, and unhaughtiness 
of character that go to make up good society, as riches 
and fashions and accomplishments do not. 

And, so the years went by, Harry came to be a 
strongly-built, quiet, pleasant-faced boy, honest, and 
straightforward, and of good habits and character, as 
any decent boy must have from such training, helping 
his mother what and when he could, but, as she 
wished, attending school, until, at the age of seven- 
teen, that he might further relieve her of her sore bur- 
den of work, he voluntarily gave up his ideas of 
further schooling and accepted a position in the 
grocery store of Mr. Greene, a prominent member of 
their church and one of his best friends. 


CHAPTER VI 


Five years have passed away and Mrs. Parker has 
sold her fine residence and part of her fine furniture, 
has dispensed with one or two of her servants and has 
moved into a neat little cottage near by. 

Was it from poverty? No, no — Heaven forbid 
that anyone should think of such a thing! Had she not 
told everyone that she did so admire that particular 
little cottage, how lovely it was, and if she could just 
purchase it and get rid of her big house, how happy 
she would be, and as for those extra servants, they 
would only be standing around in each other’s way, 
and her horses and carriages, she did not want to 
bother with them any more. Did she not dress as 
well as ever? If some of her gowns were re-made and 
remodeled from old ones, was it not done so skilfully 
as to escape detection? Though if she must economize 
in private, she flattered herself, the public had not 
guessed it. 

Was she not recognized in select society as a leader; 
was not she one of the wittiest, so that her speech was 
eagerly listened to; was she not always graceful and 
self-possessed; did she not help set the pace of society 
and help determine those little trifles which denote 
change in style? 

Did not the papers describe her beautiful gowns as 
often as they did those of others; was she not as erect 

48 


tbelen pathet 


49 


and beautiful as ever? Yes. But a careful observer 
would notice that pride — and time — had sharpened her 
features, a little. In her eyes was a deeper yearning, a 
stronger desire, for that which, when it came, did not 
bring satisfaction, an air of defiance about her. She 
had not died of mortification because of the shame 
brought upon her by the forgery; not she, she had 
conquered it, overcome it, and established her position 
in spite of and beyond it. 

She was sitting in her room, one hot summer day, 
slowly rocking in a large comfortable chair, fanning 
herself, with one hand, while in the other she held a 
novel she had just finished, when the door opened and 
three little girls came rushing in. 

“Why, Helen, what do you mean, child; put your 
hat on your head.” 

The foremost of the three slowly pulled her hat, 
which was hanging by the strings around her neck, up 
to its usual position, at the same time telling the 
cause of their hurried appearance. 

“We was playin’ out there under the tree and a man 
came over on the corner and stood for a long, long, 
time, looking right at us, and then he come over 
toward us, and he looked so funny, that we was ’fraid 
of him and come in the house,” and she stuck her lips 
out in a pout. 

“Yes, an’ Susie’s best doll was left out there, and 
I’m afraid he’ll get it,” put in one of the girls. 

“And my hat, too,” said the other, who was bare- 
headed. “Come, and see him, Mrs. Parker, what do 
you suppose he wants?” 


50 


Ibelen patftet 


“Pshaw, it wasn’t anybody that would hurt you; it 
might have been a tramp,’’ she replied, with a smile, 
rising and going to the window. As she did so, she 
gave a sudden start and her face darkened; 'he was 
slowly advancing toward the door. 

She hurried to it and opened it before he could ring, 
and for some minutes the two were engaged in earnest 
conversation, in low, deep tones, so the girls, though 
they listened breathlessly, could hear only now and 
then a word or a sentence. 

From these they could gather only the one thought, 
that he wanted to come in, while she strictly forbade 
it. 

Presently, she shut the door and came back into the 
room, where she found the three little girls leaning 
against the doorpost, straining their ears to hear and 
yet to be unseen. Her face was flushed and she 
trembled from suppressed anger, and as the children 
burst into a peal of laughter she only met them with a 
frown. 

“Children, were you listening; that was very impo- 
lite of you, very, did you hear what we said?’’ 

“Only that you told him he couldn’t come in,’’ 
replied one of them. 

“Was he a tramp?’’ another asked. 

“Yes, I guess so,’’ she answered absently, and, sit- 
ting down, she soon became absorbed in deep study. 

The children were about to return to their play, 
thinking little of the incident, when she spoke to 
them: 

“See here — girls. I wouldn’t go out there again; 


Ibelen parftet 


51 


that man is waiting out there; I would play here in 
the house.” 

“Oh, dear,” sighed one of the girls, “It’s too hot to 
play in the house; it’s so much nicer out under the 
trees; I wish that hateful man would go away.” 

“We was going to have a lunch,” cried another, with 
an angry fling of her hat. 

“He’s got to go away,” broke out Mrs. Parker, so 
passionately, as to surprise the children. “I’ll have 
him arrested for trespassing.” Then, calming herself, 
she said, “Just wait a little while and I think he will 
go away, and, Helen, listen to me, if you ever see 
this man anywhere, on the street or here in the yard, 
you must come into the house, or, if he should come to 
the house when I am away you must not see him; he’s 
a bad, wicked man, and he might carry you off some- 
where.” 

“Oh, dear,” cried Helen’s playmates, in dismay, 
turning to her, “What a mean man; why don’t you 
have a policeman get after him; why, Mrs. Parker, he 
ought to be put in jail; why. I’d be scared to death if 
I was you, Helen,” and one of them even began to cry. 

Helen turned pale, but she declared stoutly, ‘T’ll 
hit him, if he tries to take me.” 

“Oh, never mind, don’t cry about it, Lucile, you 
can go out and play if you want to; I guess he’s gone 
now, but if you see him coming, come right into the 
house.” 

“Yes, we will,” and in a short time they were play- 
ing as merrily as ever, while she sat at the window, 
watching them, with knit brows. 


52 


Ibelen ipather 


For some time after this they were disturbed quite 
frequently by the sight of “that man,” as the children 
always called him, standing upon the opposite corner 
or walking slowly up and down the pavement, looking 
steadily at the cottage or any of its occupants who 
happened to be visible. He came to be a sort of 
bugbear to Helen. It was his features and his form 
that arose in her childish dreams to injure her. It was 
on his account that she must run to the house, or stay 
inside the yard, and so, besides her fear of him, she 
came to have a childish hatred toward him for disturb- 
ing her play. 

But presently he disappeared, and, as years went 
by, she forgot all about him. She passed through all 
the vicissitudes and periods of a young girl’s life, 
through all its trials and joys, much as other children 
in the society about her. How varied each one’s life 
seems, to themselves, at this age; how important each 
little happening, how quick to fancy we are having a 
hard time; how quick to quarrel and then to be 
friendly, how impetuous in the main, alike, at this 
age, careless of the future, enjoying the present, now 
whistling or singing, now pouting or crying, angered 
by discipline, less reverent, quick of perception, 
tenacious of our rights, eager for any change, restless, 
regarding study or work as an evil, looking upon this 
world, to a certain degree, as made especially for us 
and to suit our wishes, until time, experience and 
closer contact with men, comes to rudely overthrow 
these ideas! 

Physically, we are breathing the same air, eating. 


t^clcn parlfeet 


53 


drinking, talking, sorrowing, or laughing, and all the 
time that unexplainable, marvelous little germ of life 
within is silently gathering and moulding all, im- 
partially into the little bodies, perfecting the lithe, 
graceful figure, dark eyes and rosy lips of one little 
beauty, the plump features, snub nose and yellow hair 
of another, or the spindle legs, bent form and shiny 
eyes of the little Jew, and so determining what man- 
ner of man we shall be. 

But, more marvelous is that co-working, yet over- 
ruling, divine spark of life, which, as a magnet, catches 
each childish pain or pleasure, each thought, each 
inspiration, each throb of love or hate, each bit of 
learning, as they come flying to it, and moulds them 
into those inner children, that we only see through the 
bright eyes, and hear through the small lips, determin- 
ing the foundation of character so that we come out of 
this period — started — on different paths. 

So now, Helen had come to be a proud, giggling, 
simpering, and sometimes called by an uncharitable 
elder, senseless school girl. She was promenading on 
the street one afternoon with two of her girl friends, 
also two of the boy friends, talking and laughing, as 
though the whole world was a joke, when, suddenly, 
one of the boys who was walking backwards, in front 
of them, collided with a man and the whole party 
stopped. 

He was tall and slim, his clothes worn and jagged, 
his face bearing strongly the marks of drink and dissi- 
pation, his head covered by a crushed and broken 
Derby hat; in short, he was a common-looking bum. 


54 


fcelen l^atltec 


But the strange thing about him was that his eyes were 
glued to the face of Helen Parker with such a strange 
look of questioning and uncertainty. She had looked 
up to see the cause of their delay, and had been fasci- 
nated seemingly by his gaze, she did not know him, 
she could not account for his look, but somehow she 
thought she had detected the start of recognition. 
Suddenly, it flashed into her mind, it was he of whom 
her mother had warned her, years before, the terror of 
her childhood. 

She turned red, then white, then red; she knew her 
companions were watching her, but she could not 
avoid his burning gaze. How long they had stood 
thus, face to face, she did not know, when one of the 
youths cried out in tones of contempt: 

“Come, old man, are you going to let us past?” 

He had just started to speak, but these words seem- 
ing to remind him of the presence of the others, his 
lips closed, his eyes hastily took in the other members 
of the group, and the spell removed, as it were, they 
brushed past him and went on down the street, laugh- 
ing and jesting at his expense. 

“He was pretty badly stuck on you, eh Helen?” 
inquired one of the young dudes, with a provoking 
laugh, “I don’t blame him any, myself.” 

“See here. I’m getting jealous, I am; why didn’t 
you tell me you had another fellow?” 

“When did you get acquainted with him, anyhow?” 

“Why, I’m just dying to know who he can be.” 

“Maybe he was some rich young fellow, masquerad- 
ing, who knows,” hazarded another. 


t)elen parfeet 


55 


In vain Helen protested, she did not know him; 
he must have been drunk or crazy; in vain did 
she try to laugh it off. They had a good joke on her 
and they must improve it, and improve it they did 
until she left them in a pout. 

She hurried home intending to ask her mother what 
was the mystery between her and that man, but her 
mother was not at home and she would not be back 
till tea. With an exclamation of anger she turned and 
went to her room, threw herself into a chair and 
began to read. Her mother brought company to tea 
and she had no chance to ask her that night. 

On the next day she was almost plagued to death by 
some of the boys, and then at night, to cap the climax, 
as she was going home with two of the girls, she 
caught sight of the same individual coming toward 
them. 

Catching her companions by the arms, she pulled 
them into a store, her face crimson, and stammering 
and embarrassed, bought the first object that caught 
her eye, while the two girls were almost smothering 
with laughter. 

When he had passed she hurried home and burst in 
upon her mother, who, luckily, was at home and alone, 
or the servants would have suffered, with sobs shaking 
her voice yet stamping her foot in rage. 

“Who is he. I’d like to know, that man you told me 
would carry me off, a long time ago?’’ 


CHAPTER VII 


“Why Helen — what’s the matter, now?” cried her 
mother, starting up so quickly that her book dropped 
from her hands to the floor, “What man can you mean, 
anyhow?” 

“He’s a tall, ragged, red-faced, drunken-looking man, 
who stopped me on the street yesterday and stood 
looking right at me, and now all the girls and some of 
the fellows at school are teasing me about him, and I 
won’t stand it.” 

“How did he come to do that?” 

“I don’t know; then to-night I saw him coming 
down the street and the girls almost died laughing at 
me — that Julia Marcome is too hateful, anyway — he 
knows me, and I remember he came to our house a 
long time ago, and you told me he might carry me off. 
Don’t you remember, that tramp, you said he was?” 

“Oh, has he come back?” 

“Yes, he’s come back.” 

“And when did you see him?” 

“I saw him yesterday, and I saw him to-night. 

“What did he say; did he tell you anything?” 

“No, he just looked at me, and to-night, I dodged 
into a store so he wouldn’t see me, but you did not tell 
me what he is, or who he is,” she cried impatiently. 

But, still, her mother did not answer but sat with a 
frown upon her face, and a far away, unconscious look 
in her eyes that exasperated Helen, so after savagely 

56 


t>clcn parfter 


57 


kicking and knocking everything about her, she was 
about to flounce herself out of the room, when her 
mother said: “Helen, come here.” 

“What?” 

“Come here. I might as well tell you who this man 
is, and how he comes to know you. He is your father 
and was my husband.” 

“He my father,” she cried, instinctively throwing 
back her head, “was he your husband?” 

“Yes, Helen, no wonder you are surprised.’ 

“Why — I don’t see — I thought he was dead,” she 
faltered. 

“No — but dead to us; he was sent to the penitentiary 
for forging, when you were only four or five years old. 
I told him then we parted for good and I secured a 
divorce from him.” 

“It’s strange — had he just come back from there, 
before?’ 

“Yes — I suppose so.” 

“Were you really afraid he would carry me off?” 

“Yes, he seemed to like you better than anyone 
else, and I was afraid he might try to get you away 
from me, even if he couldn’t provide for you or keep 
you.” 

“Why couldn’t he?” 

“He drank and gambled all his money right away; 
you say he was ragged and drunken-looking; he drank 
then, he drinks worse now; that was the reason he 
went to forging.” 

“And did he ever try to take me?” asked Helen, 
breathlessly. 


58 


Ibelen parfeet 


“No, he wanted to see you, but I told him he had 
better keep clear away from you; that he was not fit to 
come near you, and, so far, he has had the good sense 
to stay away; I hoped he would altogether.” 

“Then I was afraid,” she continued, in a strangely 
unemotional tone, “that he might try to make me 
divide the property; I had made him sign it over to 
me pretty soon after we were married, for fear he 
would gamble it away. But then if he had come around 
and raised a fuss, and threatened to hang around and 
tag after me, and meet me on the street and every- 
thing that way, so people would talk — he never cared 
any more for society than a hog — why of course. I’d 
have had to give him something — to get rid of him — 
I guess he won’t now though, it’s been so long, and 
besides,” with a grim smile, “it’s almost gone.” 

Helen sat silent for a long time. No one could tell 
what was passing through her proud young mind, or 
what emotions it would bring up in her heart. This new 
and surprising knowledge had undoubtedly set varied 
feelings and emotions stirring in her nature; but what 
would be the outcome of it all. 

It comes disappointingly — yet we must remember the 
proceeding and stronger emotions and experiences — 
causes, which have been at work on her, all her life — 
the result was not merely that of a day’s experience, 
but rather an index of her training and her character. 

Rising to her feet she began nervously pacing the 
room. 

“Well, if he is my fathei, what can I do — What if 
Carry Brown and Mary Rolleston know it, or shall I 


Ibelen patftet 


59 


explain it all to them, tell them he is my respected 
father if he does drink, that he used to be in the peni- 
tentiary but he ain’t any more, that he might claim 
me as his child, and might make you give him part of 
the property, only it being almost gone, you don’t 
think he will? Shall I tell them that is the reason 
he knows me and stops to look at me — shall I tell 
them all that?” she asked, in tones of infinite scorn. 

“Heavens no, child — what do you mean by talking 
that way; I would never have told you, if I had even 
thought of your telling anybody.” 

“Well, I must do something, or else quit school; 
everybody in my class knows about it and every time 
they see me, ask me how he’s getting along. To-day 
that mean, hateful, Claude Sofer looked right at me 
and pretended he was taking a drink out of a glass 
and whispered, ‘Have a beer,’ so all the school could 
hear him, and they all began to laugh at me.” 

Mrs. Parker ground her teeth together. “Curse him 
— but you’ll have to stand it; pretend you don’t care. 
I had to stand it; I had to turn it off maybe with a 
joke, when I could have stabbed someone. Every time 
any one spoke about him I had to apologize for him 
and excuse him. I have been humiliated until I wanted 
to sink somewhere out of sight, and, sometimes when 
I had company or gave a dinner, I would have almost 
nervous prostration from fear that he would come in 
and make a fool of himself.” 

“Why do men have to drink and act so, why should 
he come around and disgrace us, when he’s such a dis- 
grace to himself?” 


6o 


Ibelen parser 


“I don’t know child; he might have met you acci- 
dentally.” 

‘‘Well then, to-night, he was coming right up the 
street again, just as if he were looking for me.” 

‘‘Maybe his work, or something, takes him along 
there at just about that time every day; I wouldn’t 
come home on that street.” 

‘‘Huh — I don’t believe he does any work — I 
wish he was really dead.” 

‘‘Why, Helen Parker,” cried the mother, even her 
cold nature startled by the tones of the daughter. 

‘‘Well, he might as well be; he ain’t any good to 
himself nor anybody else; if he was like Clara Men- 
thar’s father, or Susie Hill’s, why I could like him, but 
nobody could blame me for not wanting him to come 
near me.” 

‘‘Yes, I know how it is, Helen, but we can’t help it; 
I’ll be thankful, heaven knows, if he don’t come to the 
house, and you’ll have to notice it just as little as pos- 
sible, and say as little about it as possible.” 

‘‘Oh, well, I can’t — I know what I’ll do; I’ll see 
him myself.” 

‘‘What for; what good can that do?” 

Well, I’ll tell him he need never stop me or speak 
to me again, and that he must keep away from us — 
I’ll tell him something,” with an indefinite, but ener- 
getic, air. 

‘‘Well, I don’t know,” replied Mrs. Parker, doubt- 
fully. ‘‘You might get him mad at us and no telling 
what he would do.” 

‘‘Well, ril see him, anyhow; I’ll risk it, and I’ll 


Ibelen partner 


6i 


tell the girls that he was an old servant or coachman 
of ours, and that he was drunk.” 

Life did seem almost unendurable to Helen for the 
next few days, and bitter tears were shed, and often 
did her slight form tremble with suppressed rage, 
until, at last, she came to shun all her companions, to 
avoid even looking toward them. True to her purpose 
she kept on the lookout for him who had caused all 
this humiliation and pain, but he seemed to have dis- 
appeared, when, one morning after about a week had 
passed, she found herself suddenly face to face with him. 

Coming so suddenly, her impulse was to dodge him 
and hasten on, but she checked it and stood before 
him with a queer expression on her face, of defiance and 
yet indecision. She had thought out what she would 
say to him; she would scorn and ridicule him; she 
would tell him how she hated him, but now, all this 
seemed to have left her. 

“Why do you stand staring at me,” she stammered, 
‘‘What do you want?” 

‘‘I wanted to speak to you,” he replied in a quiet, 
hesitating, voice, ‘‘You can’t understand until I tell 
you — I am your father.” 

‘‘Yes, you are my father,” she repeated, in unsur- 
prised tones. ‘‘My mother told me that about a week 
ago, but she also told me that we were separated for- 
ever.” 

‘‘What — but I suppose she told you all?’ 

‘‘Yes, and it made me proud to hear it, but anyone 
could almost guess it all by your looks.” 

‘‘Yes,” replied the drunkard, slowly, looking down 


62 


Ibelen iparkei* 


upon his sorry figure and back again to the beautiful, 
stylishly-dressed young girl. “You are like your 
mother, proud and scornful — and yet I cannot blame 
you — I should not have expected it.” 

“Should not have expected what, what did you 
expect?” 

“Helen, I loved you when you was a child more 
than anyone else, we used to take walks together, and 
have fine times, then I had to leave you — but I have 
been thinking about you all this time, wondering how 
you looked and what you were doing; I knew how it’d 
be; I knew it was better for me to keep away from 
you, but somehow I couldn’t help it, you was the only 
person I cared for and I wanted to know if you was 
thinkin’ or carin’ about me,” and tears came into his 
eyes as he spoke. 

Helen was affected by these words; he had loved 
her; she had never heard anyone else say that; he had 
shown emotion by his tears; that was undisputable, 
though had she heard it previously she would have 
denied its possibility; he had come back with a desire 
to see and talk to her and not with the despicable wish 
to humiliate her, but what could she do; there was a 
whole world between them — there was the ridicule and 
disgrace of the past week. 

“Well, if I was your friend, mother ain’t, you can t 
come to our house, and, as for meeting you on the 
street or anywhere, people make all kinds of fun of 
me; that’s the reason I’m alone now; I can’t bear to 
go to school because everybody is teasing me about — 
the way you looked at me.” 


Ibelen patfeet 63 

The drunkard’s head sank, his eyes dropped to the 
ground. 

“Just like her mother,” he sighed, “but you said, if 
you was my friend,” he suddenly cried eagerly, “are 
you my friend, will you be my friend?” 

For a moment she hesitated, the good impulses 
struggling with the evil, but pride conquered. 

“No, and the reason I spoke to you was so that you 
would not stop me or speak to me again, or I shall be 
the laughing stock of the whole town.” 

“Good-bye, then,” and, with a last look at her, he 
turned and went slowly down the street. 

Helen gazed after him with some feeling of sorrow 
and pain; she pitied him; her conscience was protest- 
ing against such treatment of her father — but the reac- 
tion came sweeping upon her and she stamped her foot 
angrily, saying: “I’m glad of it, he has no business to 
disgrace me.” 

Imagine yourself, dear reader, an outcast of society, 
drifting anywhere, it makes no difference, with here a 
curse and there a jibe, no confidence in yourself, no one 
with confidence in you, no home with its wonderful 
influences, no regard for the opinion of men because 
you think they do not care, your friends just like 
yourself, no tie of stronger or truer friendship, no kind 
sympathy, as you take only as a matter of course, a 
conscience seared, a miserable, demoralized body, the 
burden of the miserable past upon you, and a dark out- 
look for the future, good pure thoughts almost out of 
your reach, impure conversation ever around you, a 


64 


Ibelcn p a r h er 


I 


terrible appetite — yea, a disease to conquer, a strong 
habit to break, only by a will weakened by constant 
defeat. 

Then, through it all, somehow, a little light shining 
— a little ray of hope — a bright recollection — vanishing 
and yet persistently returning — at last submerged in 
despair. We might tell of the anguish and disap- 
pointment of the drunkard, we might imagine him 
desperate, with deeper hatred toward his fellow 
creatures, with utter hopelessness caring nothing, com- 
mitting some awful crime, we could imagine him sad, 
weeping and despairing, and pity him — but pshaw — 
does a drunkard have such emotions, or what care we 
if he does; let us turn to brighter thoughts. 


CHAPTER VIII 


It was again evening of a beautiful summer s day, 
the small clock over the desk in the grocery store of 
Greene & Co. had chimed out the half-past five stroke, 
so Mr. Greene, closing his ledger with a snap, placed 
it in the safe, locked it, straightened up his desk, hung 
up a file of papers, gave some directions to the head 
clerk, and then put on his hat and started for supper. 
Just as he stepped outside, a man who was passing, 
stopped and grasped him by the hand. 

“Well, Mr. Greene, it’s been a nice day, hasn’t it— it 
seems to me I haven’t seen you for some time.” 

“Yes, it does seem, living only two blocks apart, 
that we ought to see each other oftener than we do, 
but I am kept so busy in the store.” 

“Yes, and so am I — Ah, there goes Ruxley in his 
new carriage, handsome turnout that, isn’t it — did you 
ever hear what kind of a deal he made with his prop- 
erty up there?” 

Thus they were engaged in conversation when the 
eyes of Mr. Greene’s companion happened to fall upon 
the heading of a paper he held in his hand. 

“Ah, some more temperance,” he cried, in a tone 
not altogether free from irony. 

“Yes, Mr. Thorne, that’s a temperance paper; I 
wish all men like you and I, who do not drink, would 
read and think of some of these words and statistics, 
until they come to realize the awful curse of whisky.” 

65 


66 


Tbelen Parker 


“Well, drinking*s a bad thing, when you drink like 
so many men do, like hogs, but nearly everybody 
drinks some; now, there’s Nate Jones and Arthur 
Holmes and Mr. Brooks, as nice fellows as you could 
pick out and they all have their wine, and they think 
it’s all right, and I don’t see how any man could walk 
up to them, and say, ‘You’re doing wrong when you 
take a drink.’ ’’ 

“No, all men are equal, one man has just as much 
right to say what is right and what is wrong, as 
another, and no man can presume to dictate to 
another, and indeed I don’t know how any of us would 
have known there was any moral distinction between 
one thing and another, but for the Bible and Chris- 
tianity, and because we see that injury and discomfort 
are caused by some things, just as we feel hurt from 
touching fire; we have a conscience, but it must be 
trained to be available; it will not rebel against any 
wrong unless it has learned somewhere that it is 
wrong; the heathen, though they are not so ignorant 
and uncultured as we often think, do things without 
compunction that would greatly startle us.’’ 

“Well, if men think drinking is wrong it seems to 
me they have been a long time finding it out, for 
they’ve been drinking ever since the first we know 
from history, and they’re at it yet harder than ever. I 
suppose people did not use to make so much fuss 
about it.’’ 

“No, but, as a drop of the precious attar of roses is 
the product of bushels of rose leaves, so precious 
knowledge comes, each atom gained as the product of 


Ibelen iPatfect 


67 


countless lives. I think the world is yet young. Man 
turned in rebellion against his Maker and flew to do 
all that, which was against his wishes and so evil, and 
now God must patiently and individually teach by the 
examples and failures of men, since there are no other 
creatures, angels or devils, from which they would 
appeal to us. You know it was as a man and not as a 
God that Christ came to teach us, you know that the 
Old Testament is taken up with the examples of men.” 

‘‘Yes, but now, as to this drinking, I don’t believe 
even your Bible says anything against it.” 

‘‘I cannot say that it does, specially, but this is how 
I figure that, Mr. Thorne. There were ten command- 
ments given in Moses’ time and I think if you will 
study them you will see that they denounced those 
things that would be wicked through all time, and 
they recommended those things that should always be 
helpful and good in all time, and to all classes and 
conditions of men. They did not denounce any crime 
peculiar to that time. They did not say, ‘Thou shalt 
not dance,’ because there are some dances that are all 
right and some places where it may be proper. They 
did not say, ‘Thou shalt not go to the theatre,’ because 
some plays may be helpful and in some later age they 
may be an agency of good. They did not say, ‘Thou 
shalt not drink,’ because there are so many kinds of 
drinks, and so many circumstances in which they are 
drunk. 

‘‘Even Christ drank wine at the wedding, just as he 
would drink coffee or cocoa in these days, because he 
saw that it was not hurtful to him as he drank it, and, 


68 


•foelen iparfter 


as it was then made, and it was no offence to his 
companions. 

“Christ did not spend his time so much in denouncing 
the special evils of that day, the licentiousness, the 
cruelty, the oppression, he did not draw distinctions 
in the customs of this day, he did not give some 
special laws to India and Africa, he did not tell the 
Icelander how he must divide up the long frigid night 
into week days and Sabbaths, he did not try to regu- 
late the doings, so far as we can see, of the people who 
shall live here in five thousand years, nor to define 
distinctions in their customs, of which we cannot con- 
ceive now, and yet, without doubt, they will find his 
sayings and his life, and especially his death as appro- 
priate and useful to them as we find it in these days. 

“Men of that time knew what was evil, or rather 
those things and only those things that they knew to 
be evil, were evil to them. They were quarreling over 
each other’s actions, they were, some of them, very 
moral men, they had those old commandments but they 
needed something more, and the world needed some 
one or something to redeem it from its sin, so Christ 
came, and, instead of commandments from the Mount, 
he gave that sermon on the Mount, those wonderful 
blessings, those wonderful promises, those visions of 
higher, nobler things, those outlines of higher, richer, 
more beautiful virtue. He came to infuse love and fel- 
lowship, joy and humility into them. He came not in 
wrath against their sins, but to teach and unlift those 
hearts that governed their actions. He came with the 
noble, ethereal, spiritual life, serving and governed by 


•foelen parfeev 


69 


an Almighty and sympathizing God, to replace the 
cold, methodical, moral life, governed by the cus- 
toms, vanities, opinions, and decrees of the proud sel- 
fish men of the time, or the wicked, debauched, 
ignorant life, governed by the lusts of the mind and 
the flesh. 

“But you see what I mean; the Bible is a book for 
all time, and so it denounces those things that are to 
endure as long as time lasts, perhaps, and those things 
of which there can never be any question as to right or 
wrong, while at the same time it comes to every age, 
every country and every individual to stimulate their 
conscience and to guide them in every circumstance.” 

“But now, Mr. Greene, I don’t want to be stubborn, 
but just to stick to this one case, I would like to know 
how the Bible would apply to these three men I spoke 
of, drinking, moderately and sensibly, as they do. 

“Well, those three men are, as you say, nice, clever, 
big-hearted men, excellent neighbors and all that, 
and, as they drink moderately, I suppose you would 
not account those warnings ‘to be temperate in all 
things’ and ‘to be sober’ as applying.” 

“No, sir, I don’t believe they would.” 

“It says, ‘Give strong drink unto him that is ready 
to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts.’ 
It says, ‘Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging and 
whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise,’ and it says, 
‘It is good neither to eat flesh, drink wine or do any- 
thing whereby thy brother stumbleth, or shall offend.’ 
And, right here, I would say this, if any one of those 
three men, drinking moderately, as they do, can raise 


70 


Tbelen parfeet 


three sons without one and more likely two of them, 
going down to be poor miserable drunken wretches, I 
will cheerfully forfeit one thousand dollars, and I 
would give ten thousand, if you could search through 
their neighborhood, influential as they are, and not 
find one neighbor’s boy who has been induced to drink 
through their influence and example. But greater yet 
to themselves personally are those words, ‘Verily, I 
say, a drunkard shall not enter the kingdom of 
heaven.’ ” 

“Do you mean to call those men drunkards, sir?’ 

“No, indeed, but it seems to me to be as bad for the 
man who says he can quit at any time, to drink, as for 
the poor diseased wretch who cannot help it; that these 
words would apply to the one as well as to the other. I 
have only given you a few words that might apply. 
I cannot analyze the Bible, but there is in it somehow 
and somewhere those, words that lift a man clear above 
drinking, and those passions drinking induces. There is 
something entirely antagonistic between religion and 
the whisky and wine and beer of this day. I cannot 
judge another man; the consciences of those three men 
you spoke of, may possibly never question them, and 
if that is the case I would say, they are doing all 
right, but if I should only take one sup I would have 
sinned, because I would have had to override my con- 
science and my ideas of God’s will in doing that. So 
many men go around puffing away upon their cigars, 
enjoying them and I do not say it is wrong for them, 
I even enjoy seeing some men smoke, but it does not 
seem right for me to do it with the ideas I have.” 


Ibelen patfeer 


71 


“Oh, well, you religious people have too high 
ideals,” replied the other, somewhat impatiently, 
“your preachers get up there with their beautiful 
words, and their love and charity and unselfishness, 
and sanctification, but when it comes right down to 
the point there aren’t many that live near up to those 
ideals — now I venture to say I’m just as honest and 
just as good a man as the majority of your church 
members, and I don’t listen to many of the sermons 
either.” 

“What you say is true in some respects,” said Mr. 
Greene, slowly and thoughtfully. “There are many 
noble men and many noble efforts that we cannot see 
perhaps, and that we do see, and yet church people 
come far short of the ideals they listen to each Sun- 
day. Christ’s coming was, besides the idea of atone- 
ment, to live a perfect man, and to give us an idea of 
how an ideal man should live, and his wish was that 
we should each one fill our position in life as he filled 
his at that time, so is it not right that we should often 
have that right ideal brought to us, though by compari- 
son it shows us very faulty and misshapen, just as the 
mechanic will look often at his pattern while he is at 
work, until he has every detail and curve impressed 
upon his mind? 

“Man is a weak creature, but I feel that their trying 
is recognized by God. You hire a boy in your store; he 
makes mistakes, he forgets things, he sometimes 
neglects, he may fail to please his customers some- 
times, and yet, all the time you see he is honestly 
trying, that he is improving, that he gains from his 


72 


Ifpclen patKer 


misdoings, and you sympathize with him, forgive and 
forget his shortcomings, and try to do anything that 
will help him along — and so I think He does with us. 

“Christians must have a high ideal to be Christians, 
and everybody recognizes that; the outside, worldly, 
man, is always quickest to notice any swerving from 
it, and the toughest man in the city can tell you how 
a good man ought to act — but what of all that? Mr. 
Thorne, a man is fit to live in this world, only when he 
is what we call moral and when his actions are re- 
spectable and decent. He may not then have the least 
connection with the other world, and he may then be 
lost just as the miserable river bat whom he would not 
notice here. 

“Salvation does not come because a man abstains 
from those vices that condemn him even before his 
neighbors. Religion is something that comes to a man 
from heaven, and a religious life is one that develops 
and strengthens it. 

“You take a pig, and put it in your house, treat it 
like one of your children, wash it, keep it warm, feed 
it on the daintiest food, and then, when it gets big you 
turn it out and it will go grunting and rooting around, 
a pig, just the same, and so a man can never become 
religious until he gets religion and is changed by it.” 

Mr. Greene, while speaking, had drawn a small Testa- 
ment from his pocket and now he opened it seemingly 
at random. 

“Just listen for a moment, Mr. Thorne, anywhere 
through here, ‘Wherefore, laying aside all malice and 
all guile, and hypocrisies, and envies, and all evil 


Ibelen patfeet 


73 


speaking, as new born babes, desire the sincere milk 
of the Word, that ye may grow thereb}^: if so be ye 
have tasted that the Lord is gracious,’ and here, 
across the page, ‘For even hereunto were you called: 
because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an 
example, that ye should follow his steps,’ and here, 
‘For he that would love life and see good days, let 
him refrain his tongue from evil, and his lips that they 
speak no guile,’ and right above that, ‘Finally be ye 
all of one mind, having compassion, one for another, 
love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous,’ aren’t those 
wonderful counsels? Now we turn over, here is the third 
chapter of Colossians. Just read that when you get 
home, won’t you, Mr. Thorne,” he cried enthusiastic- 
ally, ‘‘that is fine, there are words for everbody there, 
until you come down to the last verse and it says, 
‘But he that doeth wrong shall receive for the wrong, 
which he hath done, and there is no respect of per- 
sons.’ These chapters are inexhaustible riches to the 
Christians, and wonderful joy in reading, and uncal- 
culable inspiration, but I would say to you as I must 
to a profane, dirty convict, you must first realize and 
appreciate this verse, ‘For God so loved the world 
that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever 
believeth in him should not perish, but have everlast- 
ing life. For God sent not his Son into the world to 
condemn the world,’ how true that was, ‘but that the 
world, through him, might be saved. He that believ- 
eth on him is not condemned, but he that believeth 
not, is condemned already,’ etc.” 

“Well, perhaps, you mean all right, Mr. Greene, but 


74 


Ibelen ipatftet 


I think every man has his own way of thinking and a 
right to think as he pleases; I live each day just as it 
comes, and then, when I die, I expect to go where I’m 
sent, and try to make the best of it; seems to me I 
would hate to be planning and worrying all the time 
about the future, but I must go to supper now — will 
see you again,” and with a bow he had gone. 

“Well, Harry,” said Mr. Greene, turning to a young 
man of perhaps twenty, who had been standing for 
some time at no great distance, listening to the con- 
versation, “there’s a fine man, an awful fine fellow; 
I’ve known him a long time. But there’s the one great 
principle of life lacking,” he continued with a sigh. 
“He has planned and worked until he has a beautiful 
comfortable home here, but he cannot seem to realize 
that, unless he puts forth some effort, eternity shall 
find him the most poverty-stricken tramp, in that knowl- 
edge and those riches that shall be precious there.” 

“Yes, sir, that’s right,” replied Harry. “I’ve been 
listening to your talk. I thought you wouldn’t care 
and it did me good as your talks always do — but I 
wanted to ask you if you couldn’t get Larkin or some 
one to take my place to-morrow. My mother — is very 
weak, and I thought I had better stay with her — I’m 
afraid she can’t last very long,” he faltered and tears 
came to his eyes. 

“Yes, yes, I will get somebody, or, if I can’t do any 
better I’ll do your work myself,” he replied kindly. 
“You needn’t come back until you want to. Take 
good care of your mother and I’m in hopes she will 
get better.” 


ibelen iparfeet 


75 


“Yes, sir,” and the young man started off. 

“Harry, see here, if she needs anything, or there is 
any luxury that would please her, don’t hesitate to get 
it; here is money.” 

“No,” cried the young man, tears again starting to 
his eyes, “I’ll have a-plenty now.’ 

“Well, all right, rely on me; if you should want me, 
I will come.” 


CHAPTER IX 


Time brings changes, three years have passed and 
Helen Parker is a beautiful, dark-haired, graceful girl 
of nineteen; she has finished her education and made 
her debut into society in a manner that has pleased 
even her mother. 

Somewhat of a musician, a good dancer, accom- 
plished in all that goes to make up a society belle; 
reared as a choice hot-house plant, proud and self- 
possessed, yet without that coldness and diplomacy 
of the mother, changeable, emotional, impetuous, 
with a spirit not to be bound too closely by conven- 
tionalities, not to be restrained too closely, not follow- 
ing too closely some other accounted greater, but 
longing to lead. She was popular, her companions 
were of the elite of that vicinity, she was besieged with 
male admirers, her name found its way into the papers, 
and not infrequently coupled with that of her hand- 
some, fashionable mother. 

Ah — her name was Parker no longer; she had mar- 
ried again; people had been wondering for years why 
she did not; there had come out whispers, at uncertain 

intervals, of her engagement to Col. or Mr. So 

and So; there had been innumerable guessings, there 
had been theories thereof, absurd and impossible, there 
had been some jealousy, but suddenly, with a great 
flare there had come the announcement of the engage- 
ment of herself and Clarence Leigh. 

76 


Ibelen [Parfeet 


7; 


As for herself, she would rather have remained 
unmarried; she knew she was the object of specula- 
tion and talk. She enjoyed the attention of different 
men, and then she had made such a failure before, its 
humiliation and gall had remained a powerful motive 
against a second choice cf companions. 

But now, a conqueror of all this had come, the near 
approach of real pecuniary embarrassment. As sav- 
ing as she had been, the whole estate was gone, the 
cottage was mortgaged and she was in debt. 

So, of course, her new husband was rich; he was 
also presentable in society, though somewhat gruff 
and stiff. He did not gamble or drink, and was ready 
to accede to her wishes. He had some pride and took 
some pride in her; what else could she desire? Had she 
not, this time, made a good choice? Was he not strong 
in those points in which the lawyer had been so miser- 
ably weak? It was true he was often grumbling and 
fault-finding at home; it was true he kept so tight a 
grasp on his money that even she sometimes despaired 
of getting what she wanted; but then it would last the 
longer and her late economy had prepared her for 
that; it was true he and Helen did not get along 
together, but then, pshaw — no man is perfect. 

And now she had the fond ambition to see her 
daughter as well provided for — to see her united to 
Carl Brown — Brown, always the synonym of aristoc- 
racy and wealth — and why should she not; was not he 
one of her most ardent admirers; were not Browns 
willing; had she not plainly hinted it to Helen, with- 
out the least objection from her. 


78 


Ibelen (Parker 


About eight one evening a carriage came dashing up 
before their home; a young man alighted — Carl him- 
self, hastened up to the door and was admitted, then, 
in a few minutes reappeared, accompanied by Helen, 
dressed in a beautiful white gown, but with heavier 
wraps thrown loosely around her. 

They were talking and laughing in low tones, and, 
entering the carriage, were whirled rapidly away, 
down one street and up another, until, at last, they 
stopped, the door was opened, and Helen was helped 
out. 

“What a dark, dingy street,” she cried, with a 
short laugh, “and where, in the name of charity, is 
your ball, that we have come so far for?” she asked, 
looking around with some anxiety. 

Her escort laughed. “Wouldn’t it be a joke now if 
we couldn’t find it; no, it’s right up those stairs; we 
will follow those people.” 

“It isn’t a very nice looking place,” she ventured, 
“mamma had no idea it was way out here — 1 don’t 

know where it is — but then she wouldn’t have let me 
come, all right; 1 don’t care, I haven’t been to a dance 
for so long.” 

“It’s not so swell as I have been in,” he replied, 
“but never fear, we’ll have plenty of good dancing, 
some lively music and a flush time. It’s a lark to get 
off sometimes where everything isn’t so nice and so 
stiff and everybody don’t know you; I’ve come here 
quite a little lately and I like it — have lots of sport — ^ 
hello, Annie. Oh, I’ll soon make you acquainted.” 
So he rattled along merrily, and she fell in with his 


Ibelen parftcr 


79 


spirit; yes, it would be a lark; she was the prettiest 
girl in the house and wore the richest, if not the most 
brilliant, costume. She was the admired of all those 
admired; she was as a queen beside some of them. 

The hall was quite large and brilliantly lighted. The 
orchestra were already thrumming upon their instru- 
ments. Her blood began to tingle and surge with that 
excitement and joy that comes to a dancer from such 
music. The first set was just forming. 

There were quite a few well-dressed women on the 
floor, some very showy but not so modest costumes, 
some wore very short dresses and some decollete. 
The gentlemen though mostly well dressed, had often 
strikingly dissipated faces. In the gallery around the 
room was a motley crowd of men, women and children. 

But she only gave them a careless glance. Arthur 
Shipton and Claude Sofer, two dandies of aristocratic 
birth and of long acquaintance, came hastily forward 
and greeted them enthusiastically and from that time, 
her mind was fully occupied, whether she was swing- 
ing on the floor, or resting for a set. 

They introduced her to a number of the girls, but 
she did not care to get acquainted with them and they 
paid no attention to her; so she divided her time 
wholly among her three admirers. 

But presently she imagined she could catch a whiff 
of liquor from their breaths, and, at length, when 
Claude Sofer came to dance with her the smell of 
liquor on him was unmistakable, his steps were less 
under control than formerly, while his conversation 
was of less sense and wandering. She noticed, too, 


8o 


Ibelen parser 


the effect of drink upon others about her; two men 
had begun to quarrel and swear and had been separated 
with difficulty. 

At the end of that set she contrived to stop at the 
back of the room, and found there, sheltered by a sort 
of curtain, a regular b ir where half a dozen participants 
of the dance were already slaking their thirst. Near 
by were men and boys and even girls in various stages 
of intoxication. 

She had been used to the drinking of wine as it was 
sometimes served at the dances and in society. She 
had seen youths who were past knowing their own 
actions, led away. She had seen the faces of beautiful 
society belles, flushed. She herself had felt its con- 
fusing influence upon her brain, but this was so much 
different it shocked her, how disgusting some of these 
people looked — vile whisky and beer — how silly 
some of the men looked and talked, how bold and 
immodest some of the girls — there is one with her head 
lolling upon the back of her chair, her face wearing a 
silly smile, and several young men not much better off 
poking fun at her. 

She looked hurriedly around for Carl, who was down 
for the next dance with her, but he did not come, so 
at last she yielded to Claude’s entreaties and danced 
it with him. But still Carl did not come. She ques- 
tioned Claude but he didn’t know where Carl was and 
by gad he didn’t care; he would dance the next round 
with her himself. 

“No, I don’t want to dance any more; I must go 
home right away.’’ 


t>elen Ibarhet 


8i 


“Pshaw now, Miss Parker,** he argued, “It’s too 
early to go home; we’re havin’ a fine time; now don’t 
you think so — never enjoyed myself better. I’m sure — 
hie — and I know you’d enjoy yourself, too, if you’d 
just— uh— ’’ 

“Yes, you look like you were,’’ she interrupted with 
great scorn, which, however, was lost on him. “But 
I’m going home; will you find Carl for me, or will I 
have to go myself?’’ 

“Oh yes’m, cu’tenly; you want to see Carl Brown, 
huh?’’ and he started off, but coming back inquired 
hesitatingly: 

“Ah — Oh, Miss Brown — wouldn’t you like to have a 
drink — uh?’’ 

Her eyes flashed fire and she stamped her foot. “No 
— you go and bring Carl right here.’’ 

He went off stammering something to himself ana 
she was alone, until recognizing one of the girls to 
whom she had been introduced, she went and engaged 
in conversation with her, but all the while looking 
anxiously around for her missing escort. 

At last she was overjoyed to see him coming toward 
her. Though he was badly under the influence of 
liquor, she hastened to meet him. 

“Oh, Carl, this is a dreadful place; let us go home.’’ 

“Why, my dear, you are mistaken; this is a nice 
place — hie; a fine time; suthin’ to drink, all the girls 
are — huh — she’s havin’ a good time,’’ as a couple came 
swinging against him, knocking him down on his knees. 

“No, no,’’ pleaded Helen, “come and take me 
home; you must take me; I don’t know the way.’’ 


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Ibelen patfeet 


“Ha, ha, ha, that’s a good joke on you, you better 
wait ’till I go then — Come on,’’ he cried, “there 
they go, and we must be in it.’’ 

“You’ll go with me then, wont you, and you’ll 
promise not to drink any more.’’ 

How long that dance lasted Helen did not know, 
but it seemed an age of misery, her face was scarlet 
with shame from the actions of her partner and others 
who were intoxicated, but at last it came to an end, 
and she renewed her entreaties to be taken home. 

“But is that blame coachman come yet — how d’ye 
’spect me to go home now — ’tain’t late yet.’’ 

She hastily looked at her watch; it was an hour yet 
until the appointed time for their return; she looked 
about her horror stricken. She could not spend 
another hour there, before that, Carl would be helpless, 
even now she shrank from going home with him, but 
what else could she do; she could see no friend; her 
other two acquaintances were just as bad. 

The orchestra starts up, Carl pulls her by the arm. 
“You must dance some more with me,’’ he c»-ied, with 
drunken stubbornness. 

“Let go my arm,’’ she replied with blazing eyes, 
“you drunken wretch, how — ’’ 

“Now, you look out,’’ came in drunken accents from 
Claude Sofer, who had just then approached, “she 
wants to dance with me; she said so, now; jus’ go ’way 
now an’ leave us be,’’ and, to Helen’s horror he 
grasped her other arm and began pulling her in the 
opposite direction. 

By a great effort she jerked loose and gave him such 


Ibelen parser 


83 


a slap across the face that it almost blinded him. He 
came at them with fury, his confused brain somehow 
attributing the blow to both of them, and began strik- 
ing savagely and indiscriminately at one and then the 
other. 

Instantly, the two men were fighting furiously and 
Helen was between them. She had received a stun- 
ning blow upon the cheek, but now she was knocked 
down and they were trampling upon her limbs, her 
dress catching in their feet was torn, one eye was 
blackened, another man was trying to separate them 
when his partner, a red-haired Irish girl, probably from 
jealousy, that he should try to help another girl, joined 
in the scuffle, and altogether, it was becoming a very 
serious matter for her. 

But, suddenly, she was relieved of the weight upon 
her and was lifted in some one’s arms and carried as 
though in a dream, out through the pressing, jeering, 
shouting crowd, out of the room and down the stairs, 
and there stood upon her feet, gasping for breath and 
from pain. 

“Oh, my child, why did you come here; why do you 
go with such — fellows; are you hurt badly; can you 
stand?’’ 

It was her father, more ragged and tougher looking 
than ever, and he had evidently been drinking, but 
there was in his look, affection and solicitude. 

She was bursting with rage at the treatment she 
had received and it came out like a torrent upon him 
who was nearest, and him who was least deserving. 

“You,” she panted, “dare you ask me why I come 


^4 


ibelen patfter 


here; why are you here? Dare you choose my com- 
pany; it all came from that cursed beer,” and she 
stamped her foot savagely. “How I hate it — but you 
drink it; you’re no better; you cannot talk.” 

“No,” he replied sadly, “but I can warn you 
against such young men; they have taken the path I 
took; they are worse than I was at their age; you are 
ashamed of me, you will come to hate them.” 

‘‘I hate them now,” she broke out, passionately, but 
what a further reply to this would have been it is hard 
to say, for just then the uproar above ceased, the door 
opened and her escort came stumbling out, bare 
headed, his face scratched and bleeding, his clothes 
torn and dirty. 

“Where ish my girl; where did she go,” and then, 
catching sight of her, he began to yell and whoop like 
a wild Indian and started down the steps, while the 
crowd above came pouring out after him. 

“Save me,” she cried in despair, and, turning, fled 
down the street into the darkness. 

The howling stopped suddenly and she could hear 
the dull thud of the body of the drunken youth as her 
father felled him with one blow, but she did not turn. 
There was a cab coming down the street, if it was only 
unoccupied; she ran out and stopped it. 

The cabman looked at her searchingly and suspi- 
ciously by the light of a distant street lamp, but, as 
she produced the fare, he assisted her inside and said 
nothing, while she sank back upon the cushions with 
her heart beating like a trip hammer. 


CHAPTER X 


To Helen it seemed as though this fateful night was 
a sort of turning place in her life, that it had opened 
up and caused a world of bitterness and misery. 

Her mother, who had not been at home at the time 
of her starting but who had given her consent to 
Helen’s going, somewhat carelessly, relying upon the 
presence of Carl Brown and those he had mentioned 
who were going, as sufficient guarantee of an aristo- 
cratic ball, was terribly angry, but her chiding was 
met with a cyclone of wrath. 

Tears did not come to soften Helen’s bitterness as 
they would have to so many young girls; she did not 
give way to lamentations, to expressions of indigna- 
tion, or to threats, but, from that time, a hatred inex- 
pressible and seemingly unquenchable had come 
between her and those who had so roughly used her. 

And so, as the next day she lay stiff, sore and 
bruised, each throb of pain seemed to increase the fury 
within her, and, when her step-father had ventured a 
word of reproach in her hearing, it seemed as though 
the greatest depths of scorn and venom in her nature 
had been aroused, so that for the time being he had 
retreated, slinking away from her blazing eyes as he 
would have from an enraged tiger. 

But he was a stubborn old man and he made it very 
unpleasant for her; they had never liked each other, 
but now he was her eternal enemy, and, as the days 

85 


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Ibelen Parker 


passed Helen was sometimes almost frantic, as at meal 
times he would sit regarding her with lowering, frown- 
ing brows, and puckered tightly-drawn lips, or at 
some remark of his as to her actions, or perhaps, as 
to some remarks he had heard upon the street, or some 
inquiry he had had as to how she was getting along, 
or if she had been seriously injured. 

A sensational paper of the neighborhood of the hall 
had, in some way secured her name and had filled col- 
umn after column with a most exciting and distorted 
account of the scrape, other papers had commented 
upon it, and, of course, it was the scandal of society, 
if not of the whole city. 

Eager reporters had come flocking to the house but 
her mother had met them with a reception of such 
frigid coldness that they were glad to flee, and to rely 
upon their imagination for further details. Innumerable 
callers had come; but for once her mother’s firmness 
and self-possession seemed to have deserted her, and 
she would not see them. 

It was concentrated bitterness to her; it was worse 
than a drunken husband and a forger; it had irrepa- 
rably and forever killed her plans for her daughter; it 
had banished all her dreams of the influence that would 
come to them through and because of the fascinations 
and beauty of the daughter; it somehow seemed to 
bring the realization that the burden of society had 
fallen heavily upon her, and that she was not able long 
to uphold it, and so as many a less-plucky woman 
would have done long before, she wearily dropped out 
of the race and staid at home. 


Ibelen parser 


87 


But that home was a scene of discord and unhappi- 
ness; the mother was cold and distant toward Helen, 
and sat brooding over the misfortune and disappoint- 
ment of life, or perusing some novel. Clarence Leigh, 
buying all the papers he could get his hands on, was 
continually showing her some account or clipping from 
them, of the affair, and, of course, this did not tend to 
soothe either her feelings, or the hatred of the 
:laughter. 

So life was truly unendurable to Helen and she often 
wished she was dead; she lounged around the house 
reading novels until the letters swam before her eyes, 
and she grew weary of them; their bright romances, 
their varied experiences, their platonic friendships 
and triumphing heroines, only made her life seem 
drearier and more miserable — sometimes she sat down 
at the piano and played a few pieces, sometimes it 
seemed she had nothing to do; she could only sit and 
rock back and forth and try to find the mental and 
physical rest from a sort of unconsciousness of the 
world and the passing of time. 

But what a busy organ the mind is: if not occupied 
with new thoughts it is continually bringing up the 
past; it does not rest, and, sometimes, it seems that 
our efforts to suppress it only stir it to greater activity. 

And so the scenes of that distasteful night kept 
recurring with remarkable persistency, and she was 
often troubled by that sad face of her father. She hated 
everybody she knew, but her antipathy for him had 
lessened somewhat as she came to detest so many 
others. In comparing him, as people unconsciously do 


88 


Ibelen Parfeer 


in such cases, with her step-father, she felt far more 
kindly toward the former. She did not admit to her- 
self that she thought the least bit more kindly or favor- 
ably toward him, that her disgrace and separation from 
society had led her in the least to sympathize with 
him; she did not feel grateful to any one in the whole 
world; but still, there were sometimes twitchings of 
conscience to trouble her, as she thought of him. 

His earnestly spoken warning kept returning to her 
mind. The appearance of her drunken pursuer with 
the eager, excited, crowd, just behind, and those 
gloating, devilish yells, and then that last interrupted 
cry, and that sickening thud — she almost wished it had 
killed him; but no, he had even come to the house and 
tried to see her, since that — she could not express her 
hatred of him — if there was any gladness in her life 
she was glad for that blow, and she was glad — she 
must at least admit that it was fortunate for her — that 
her father had happened to be there, that night. 

Dancing, the mere thought of which had once sent 
a thrill through her slender frame, was disgusting to 
her now; the thought of liquor was sickening; the 
attention of young men of her set was impossible, to 
say the least. Her late brilliant entry into society, 
and her plans and expectations seemed of no interest 
to her now. They had all been strangely blighted by 
that one miserable night. Society events passed 
unnoticed or with only a scornful sneer, from her 
pretty lips. People, perhaps, were watching for her, 
looking curiously at the house as they passed; she 
would not gratify them, she would not even stand at 


t)elen parfeet 89 

the window and at the announcement of visitors she 
locked herself in her room. 

She had always admired her mother; so beautiful, 
and well-dressed, so graceful and unembarrassed, so 
sagacious and witty, qualities which elicited admira- 
tion rather than love. She had looked upon her as a 
sort of model, she had looked to her for advice in 
those matters of etiquette, good taste, style, which are 
indispensable to good society. Her instinctive ambition 
had been to equal or even surpass her as a society 
light. 

But now that she had come in contact with her 
pride, her cold, disagreeable, unaffected nature, that 
artificial, brilliant, pleasant manner seemed hypocrit- 
ical and disgusting. She no longer cared to imitate or 
please her; her admiration was gone and love had not 
come. 

One night an idea came into her head. She would 
run away; she would leave that part of the city and go 
where she was not known; she did not care where. The 
thought staid in her mind and grew stronger; she 
would like to be a stenographer; how nice it would 
seem working, perhaps, for some nice young man, no 
detestable step-father or mother, or anyone else to find 
fault with her, no hateful society to bow to and to 
please. She had often watched them at their work, 
how independent they were. 

One morning after an unusally bitter quarrel she 
announced her determination to leave home and sup- 
port herself; she would not put up with such an old 
miser any longer, meaning, of course, Clarence Leigh. 


90 


tbelen parftet 


Her answer was only a taunt from him and a sneering 
smile from her mother. 

That settled it. Packing up her individual things 
she hastened to a jewelry store and disposed of one of 
her most valuable ornaments, a pair of diamond ear- 
rings and a beautiful pendant. Then she made her way 
directly to a school where stenography was taught and 
bargained both for a term’s tuition and a room. 

This done, she sent a man for her things and spent 
the rest of the day in arranging them cozily, just as 
she wanted them, and when, with a sigh of weariness, 
she had finished, the room was very well furnished; 
indeed, she had to do a great deal of planning to get 
everything inside; the room was so woefully small. 

She had a small table in the center of it, and there 
was only a circular path of emptiness around it to walk 
in, but, as Helen sat luxuriously rocking and kicking 
her little feet into the air, she only laughed and joked 
to herself because of that. She had begun a new life, 
and, for a while it seemed very pleasant; she was inde- 
pendent; her work kept her thoughts from the misery 
of the past; she had escaped from that bane of society; 
intercourse with new friends and their sympathy and 
help were doubly pleasing to her; because of her recent 
banishment and exclusion from human beings, the 
atmosphere and society of the school was quiet and 
well-governed, and last, but not least, was the thought 
that she had further humiliated her mother and piqued 
her step-father. 

She was bright, she learned quickly, but she was 
pretty, coquettish and lively again, as she had been. 


ibelen parser 


91 


and so she was a favorite of those boys who were 
taking the school easy, who were enjoying them- 
selves as they went along; so it was, that while the 
plain, poor, but ambitious girl was sitting steadily 
bent over her book, she was smiling, winking or writing 
notes. While others were busy clicking away upon 
their typewriters, she was often slyly talking upon her 
fingers. When she tried to concentrate her mind upon 
her work it was often occupied by the events of the 
school room about her or in thoughts of some antici- 
pated pleasure, or perhaps she was weary and sleepy 
from the late hours of the preceding night. 

For she often went to the theater with Charley 
Brooks, and she had even gone to a dance with him, 
and enjoyed herself, too. That old untiring longing 
for pleasure, that never-satiated thirst for change and 
excitement, which she had thought so thoroughly 
destroyed, was again awakened and revived. Her 
pleasures were poorer and cheaper, her seats in the 
theaters were less costly. She must mix with society 
less fashionable, poorer dressed, more ignorant, but 
she did not care for this. They were not so despicable 
in her eyes now as those elegant richly dressed 
devotees of fashion, whom she recognized as of the 
class she had just left, and who, especially if they 
seemed to carry with them an air of proud aristocracy, 
always brought a sneer to her lips and a throb of hate 
to her heart. 

Just so she could go, if not with Charley then with 
some other of the boys; if the company was less fas- 
tidious, less bound by petty conventionalities, so much 


92 


Ibelen iparfeet 


the better; they made up for it in earnestness and 
abandon to pleasure. 

Yet, sometimes she seemed to have a fit of envy and 
dissatisfaction and disappointment and, at such times, 
she would buy the papers and eagerly read the society 
notes, and, as she read there those names which she 
knew, as she read the descriptions of the beautiful 
gowns, of the grand balls, of the brilliant receptions, 
it set her pacing her narrow little room in a fever of 
jealousy and regret and pain, sometimes impatiently 
kicking any of her innocent belongings that happened 
to seem especially obtrusive, until exhaustion would 
bring relief in the form of tears or sleep. 

And then for days pride helped her to scorn all 
thought of them; there was an impassable gulf between 
her and her old position. She would not have gone 
back to the house of Clarence Leigh if the prospects 
had been ten-fold more alluring. 

But now the end of the term had come and there 
were examinations and tests. Nervously, heroically, 
she worked, but still she failed in reaching the stand- 
ard. She was not yet fit to go out into the work, nor 
could she yet hope to meet the rush of business or 
please an employer by neatness and accuracy, so her 
teacher told her. 

That night she went home in that pitiable condition, 
which bitter disappointment, weariness, and the over- 
shadowing of poverty, will bring to a nature like her. 
But, at the beginning of another term she started 
pluckily into the work again. Her room was not so 
crowded now as she had sold part of her belongings, 


Ibelen patfter 


93 


She had profited from her failure; she had been awak- 
ened to see that her wishes were not to be considered 
in this new life. Ability and competency were the only 
passports to her advancement and must be the sole 
means of her subsistence now; and, so she started in 
with the often-repeated determination to work steadily, 
to earnestly learn, and to faithfully practice. Charley 
Brooks had failed, and had left the school in anger, so 
it was somewhat easier for her; yet, the restraint upon 
her time and her unvarying hum-drum life became 
very irksome, and she came to look forward to the 
time, with horror and dismay, when, employed, she 
must work perhaps harder and more steadily. 

One night she was on her way home when she hap- 
pened to notice the sign, “CLERKS WANTED,” in 
the window of a large department store near by. 
Turning back she entered the store and, almost before 
she realized it, had accepted a position in the ribbon 
department. 

She wondered at herself, and at the sudden change 
in herself from a student to a clerk, as she came out 
and continued down the street. Her salary was to be 
small, but she would be relieved of all stress and strain 
of mind. She would not have to think or worry or 
pound an old typewriter all day, she would be meet- 
ing different people all the time and it would be nice 
showing those beautiful ribbons, matching colors and 
handling money, — yes, on the whole, she was glad she 
had made the change. 

But there came in time the same old weariness and 
unrest, which we look upon as the result of outer sur- 


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Ibelen parser 


roundings, but which more truly show the effect of 
inner conditions. It is true she had some irritable 
grumbling customers, but for the most part, they were 
kind and courteous. Sometimes she was confronted by 
one of her old acquaintances, but she always treated 
them as though they were strangers, and they gener- 
ally did the same by her. 

She had descended another scale in the social strata. 
She must look to these clerks for companionship. They 
were yet poorer, their knowledge was not above the 
ordinary and few of them were at all cultured or 
accomplished. Their tastes were lower, their language 
coarser and oftentimes contained questionable allusions 
and jests; their thoughts were grosser, they seemed 
more like animals — looking ever that they should get 
their feed and satisfied if they only got that — and she, 
thrown under the same conditions, and, in their com- 
pany, would descend to the same level — well, she did 
not care. 

This outlook and the daily restraint of work, was 
fast taking the aristocracy out of Helen and, alas — it 
was diminishing that true and right pride in herself — 
which is so strong a barrier against the debasement of 
character and that ambition and inspiration to be 
somebody, without which man is a poor creature. 

So, with no restraining influence, she was going to 
the bad. She was getting used to their often almost 
disreputable talk. Surely John Oleson or that little 
simpering Henry Jones were no worse than Carl 
Brown. Although some of the dances she went to now 
were almost as bad as that fatal one, what difference 


Ibelen patFter 


95 


did it make. Some of the operas and shows were cheap 
and questionable, but she had no choice in the matter, 
she was only a store clerk about whom nobody cared — 
she was no longer a shining light whose actions were 
watched and commented upon. 


CHAPTER XI 


One evening she had started for supper, but she did 
not feel hungry; she would rather enjoy the compar- 
atively fresh air of the street after the confinement of 
the day, and watch the countless human beings, hurry- 
ing and jostling along, each intent on their own sup- 
per or some pleasure or duty. 

Some were as she had been six months before. She 
passed them with a sneer and a toss of the head. How 
well she remembered how, then, she had looked down 
upon the shop girl as only a sort of human machine, 
of no special value upon this earth but to sell goods. 
Many she could see were in the same position as her- 
self, and there were some — worse — she pitied them. 
Why did they exist; how could they stand such exist- 
ence year after year, and then came that old question 
to humanity, “Why do they and we exist anyhow?” 

She wandered down one of the meaner streets 
Here were children starting in life in woeful poverty, 
encompassed by sin and without ambition; yes, they 
must be, what good were they, what hope of them 
becoming anything. There’s a dirty-faced little young- 
ster swearing vigorously and trying to beat off a 
scrawny looking elder sister who has come to get him. 
There goes a man reeling in intoxication, and there a 
woman with a pail of foaming beer. There were men 
all along the street, lounging, smoking, whittling — 

96 


Ibelen parfeer 


9; 


dirty, ragged and aimless. What is a man without 
ambition? But it flashed into her mind, was not that 
the bane of her present life. Formerly she had hoped 
to excel in beauty, in dress, and all that, to become a 
queen in society. Her one ambition had been smoth- 
ered and there seemed to be nothing desirable now 
that she could ever hope to be or for which she was 
striving. 

But listen, here comes the Salvation Army, the 
noise of the beating drum almost drowned in the 
chorus of indescribable yells and shouts from the 
crowd of grinning waifs of the streets — boys and girls 
of indiscriminate sizes and appearance. They stop just 
ahead of her. Men, women, and more children pour 
out of the dingy buildings, and immediately they are 
surrounded by a great crowd. Inspired by their eager- 
ness, she pushes in to see them with the rest. 

There were three men and four women in the little 
group; one of the men had the large base drum, 
another a horn and the third a large flag, some of the 
women had tambourines. They immediately struck up 
a lively song, accompanied by all the instruments and 
by clapping of hands; what queer people, what could 
they see in this kind of life anyhow, what did all this 
amount to? 

Another rousing song was sung, one of the women 
had a particularly sweet voice, and a face beautiful 
and good, a clear, bright, pure face, with dark-blue 
eyes, a small dimpled mouth, and her waving brown 
hair showing under her poke-bonnet. 

The song barely finished, all sank to the ground, 


Tbelen pathet 


9S 

while one of the men poured out an earnest prayer; 
then, while yet upon their knees came a softly and 
reverently sung plea for the wicked. Arising, the man 
with the flag stepped forward and began to speak 
earnestly and in a loud voice. 

“Friends, I wish you could realize that there is a 
God looking down into this street, that there are 
angels whose business it is to watch what each one of 
you are doing, and to write it down. 

“He, who, innocent and pure, died to save men, 
wicked as they are, so that they might go to heaven 
when they die, is watching you all the time. If any 
of you children have not heard of this Savior who died 
for you, get your father or mother to tell you all about 
him, or come to the hall. I would be so glad to tell 
you all about it. Most of you have heard about it, most 
of you, I suppose, know all about it, but you do not pay 
any attention, you do not believe, you do not try to 
live according to what you know. Oh, that you could 
realize one hundredth part of his love and sacrifice for 
us — and yet, how we grieve him. 

“As we came up this street we could hear cursing 
and swearing; you men, and even you little boys, 
reviling against the Savior, taking his name in mock- 
ery and he at the same time giving you air, and 
strength to breathe it; causing your heart to beat — 
some of these children, perhaps, have hardly known 
they had a heart beating away every minute, and 
that if it should stop — so long — their life would be 
gone. 

“You do not realize that without life you could not 


Ibelen iparfeer 


99 


think, you could not move your hand, your arm, your 
head — Life comes from God, man cannot understand 
it, much less make it. All this time, by God's per- 
mission, your lungs are breathing, your heart is work- 
ing, your blood is flowing through your veins, your 
food is changing into muscles and bone. 

“Even as I speak, some guilty thief may be at work 
in yonder tenement. Would he be there if he realized 
that God was watching him? Would those men be 
drinking and carousing in that saloon over yonder? 
Would you, my brother and my sister, have done just 
as you did to-day? Would you have thought the same 
thoughts? 

“Friends, God has wonderful mercy; he lets us go 
on here day after day, pleasing ourselves, stealing, 
fighting, lying, drinking, cheating, gambling, danc- 
ing, doing everything he has told us not to do, pay- 
ing no attention to him except to revile and blaspheme 
his name. Could we treat a friend here on earth that 
way and expect to keep him a friend? 

“Could you do everything opposite to what your 
father or mother wanted, without expecting to be pun- 
ished? Can you do opposite to what the people want 
you to do, I mean by that break the laws, and expect to 
go unpunished? Can you jump from that high build- 
ing without getting hurt? 

“God said to the flower, be beautiful, that you may 
please men; to the tree, grow and be strong, spread 
out your branches that you may be a shade; and to 
man, he says, serve me continually and gladly. What 
is it prevents? Partly stubborness, partly laziness and 
LofC. 


100 


Ibelen iparfeer 


partly because you have followed after sin and allowed 
it to conquer you. 

“No, mercy will not last forever. Justice will find 
you. Hell is your punishment. Some of you laugh 
at the idea of a hell, that word passes through your 
lips a dozen times a day; carelessly, you joke about it. 
You say that hell would be too severe a punishment; 
that God would not allow it. But, friends, do you 
realize your sin as God sees it? 

“Every hour you repel him, push him away, you 
are ungrateful and unthoughtful of his mercy, and of 
everything he gives to you. Instead of living for him, 
and trying to elevate each other into in a better life, 
into a better preparation for heaven, you are going 
backwards, you are growing blacker and blacker, you 
are dragging some one else down, maybe a wife or a 
child, or someone else. Do you want to see these 
little children grow up to be such lazy wretches as 
some of you are? You are serving the devil if not 
God. 

“I do not say there is tiot a terrible fire awaiting the 
wicked; 1 think there is and I don’t intend'to risk it 
by going there. Never— But we will suppose there 
is no such terrible place; we will let you have it your 
own way. You are enemies to Christ, you want him 
to keep away from you, to leave you alone in your 
blackness and sin, and all Christian people, many of 
you make fun of them, it makes some of you mad if 
you see anything that is good. Well, we’ll let you 
have your own way then. 

“At the Judgment Christ leaves, withdraws, from 


If^elen iparfeer 


lOl 


you; the good people will not bother you any more. 
They have gone with him. Some of the rich respect- 
able people will stay with you because they did not 
like God. Some of those who have been coming to our 
meetings or to church and who you have been laugh- 
ing at for trying to be good, will leave you. 

“Some of you think: Oh, well, I will live wicked 
here, do just as I want to, and then, just before I die 
ril repent, and so I’ll go with the good people. No, 
you won’t; nine to ten chances you won’t. You’ll be 
ashamed to; you wont want to then, and you must be 
forgiven, and washed whiter than snow before you die. 
You say you are ashamed to go to church because your 
clothes ain’t so nice as the others. Well, in the judg- 
ment you’ll be a hundred times more ashamed of your 
dirty black sins amongst the pure and righteous. You 
don’t like to look a real good man straight in the eye 
and their talk makes you ashamed of yourself. Do 
you think you will push in amongst those good people 
then? Do you think you would stand up in front of 
Christ without flinching? No, I think you will sneak 
away; you will get in amongst the other crowd, you 
will stay with the devil who you have been serving so 
long. 

“I don’t think there’ll need to be angels there to keep 
you back; I don’t believe anybody will have to sep- 
arate you. There’ll be nothing hid there; we’ll not 
have these bodies to hide us from each other. To my 
mind some of us will be as clear as crystal — shining, 
beautiful; some of us stained, blackened, clouded over 
horribly. When the great book of Judgment is opened. 


Ifpelen Parker 


io^ 


he wont have to call off where you’ll belong — no, 
you’ll be there already and some of you will be trying 
to hide yourselves, too — but, when your name is called 
you’ll step out in front, you’ll have to, and the record 
will be read of what you have done. They have only to 
look down at your black body. Even the devil will 
say, the record is true; you will know it is: you will 
crowd back out of sight. 

“So, at Judgment you will be promoted to steadier 
employment and bigger pay, whichever side you are 
on, just as death finds you — whether it is the devil or 
God that gives you up and ceases to strive with you. 

“And, do you think you would be happy then, when 
you’re desire was granted and all good people had 
gone? Suppose this street was shut up, no good per- 
son could come in here. You never heard anything 
good from outside; you lived here, on and on for a 
hundred years, yes, a thousand years, wouldn’t this be 
a hell right in here. Why, look at yourselves, some 
of you thirty and forty years old, scarred by sin, 
miserable, tired of existence, some of you drinking to 
forget your misery, some of you committing suicide 
to escape the wretchedness of your life. What would 
you be in a hundred years from now, and there is a 
whole eternity before you, thousands and thousands of 
years? Oh, it would be worse than fire and brimstone. 
If you go to hell you will never escape. Oh, won’t you 
begin to serve God to-night? 

“I know you are surrounded by evil things, by mis- 
ery and poverty and temptation, but, if you will just 
ask his pardon, ask him to forgive you for the way you 


Ibelen parF?et 


103 

have treated him and determine to do better the rest 
of your life; he will help you — we will help you. 

“He is watching you — anxiously — no matter if you 
are a drunkard, a thief, a murderer, or a liar, or maybe 
you are more respectable. You would not do any of 
these things, you are selfish, your heart is filled with 
anger and hatred, your mind often filled with evil 
thoughts, you do not care to know God, you are miser- 
able and discouraged, you do not care what becomes 
of yourself or anybody else; it is all the same, you 
are a sinner and you need God, and he is ready and 
waiting to receive you. 

“Now, in just a few minutes, I want to ask you to 
accept this salvation, but first Miss Ames will sing for 
you a song, ‘The Sinner’s Friend.’ I am sure you 
will be glad to hear her.” 

Miss Ames was the girl whose face had attracted 
Helen’s attention, and accompanying herself now and 
then with her tambourine, she sang the realistic and 
touching song in a clear, emotional voice. 

What a voice! It would have been almost a passport 
into society, at least a means of distinction there, but 
she used not the least affectation, she sang not to 
show it, but to express meaning, a song from the heart 
and so, going to the heart. As it was finished she 
stepped back, modestly, with downcast eyes; no 
applause, nothing but a breathless silence, but yes, the 
highest tribute that could be paid — women are weep- 
ing. Helen was greatly affected, she had listened 
breathlessly. 

“Captain Jones, how is it with you to-day?” 


104 


fpelen parser 


That individual, an old man with white locks, steps 
out and tells how for forty years he has been a happy 
man — because — for that length of time he has been a 
Christian. How, since he had joined the Army, he had 
been happier than ever, and that he expected to be 
happy as long as he lived. 

“Hear that?” cried the leader, “he says he has been 
happy forty years. How many of you can say that, I 
wonder? No, you cannot be happy and live in sin. 
I know that because I have tried it, but I am happy 
now — hallelujah — all of us are happy. Miss Ames is 
happy, Comrade Holmes is happy, you may be happy 
to-night. Come, get into the fountain to-night. 
Now, while we sing let some one come forward, kneel 
down by this drum and get your sins washed away; let 
anyone come, it is for one as well as another.” 

Again they broke into a wild, impressive refrain; two 
women, one of them with a white-faced little boy, 
came toward, a rough-looking old man, one scarred by 
poverty, drink and sin, fell upon his knees tears 
streaming from his eyes, and buried his face in his 
hands; a moment later a dissipated young man, ragged 
and with terrible despair written upon his white emaci- 
ated face, dropped by his side, amid hallalujahs and 
expressions of joy and praise. 

Most of the Salvationists had dropped upon their 
knees to pray with and for the convicted ones, but one 
of the men, he who had been called Holmes, stepped 
forward and began to speak: 

“That is right, my friends, keep on coming — halle- 
lujah — won’t more of you come and be saved — now is a 


f)elen ipatftet 


105 


chance — some of you ought to come, won’t you? I 
was impressed by what our leader said about serving, 
that we are either serving God or the devil, and the 
thought came to me, we are all saving our wages, did 
you ever think of that? 

“There is an expert workman; he should receive 
the wages of an expert. There is an ignorant, careless 
man, are not his wages in proportion. Are not your 
wages increased as time goes on and you become more 
skillful and more careful? 

“This brother,” and he laid his hand upon the head 
of the kneeling man, “has been an expert workman; 
he has served Satan long and well; he has received 
liberal wages for all his work. How do I know? Is it 
not discernable to you, my brother, rny sister? May 
he from now on receive as liberal from God.” 

“Amen,” came in a chorus from different members 
of the band while an enthusiastic sister shouted “Hal- 
lelujah.” 

“Young man, young woman, you too have received 
his wages. There are stored away, in your heart, maybe, 
pride and deceit; in your mind, maybe, impurity and 
hatred; in your soul, maybe, arrogance and defiance; 
in your body, maybe, disease and lust. Then, as your 
wages grow larger and your storehouse grows fuller, 
your riches may be seen through the eyes, the face, 
the body. 

“But what are the wages of the Christian? Help in 
trouble, soothing of pain, encouragement after disap- 
pointment, happiness and blessings, above all, joy and 
peace, for ever and ever. He, too, saves his wages. 


io6 


Ibelen patftet 


His heart may be stored with love and pity, his mind 
with good intentions, good and pure thoughts and 
knowledge of good, and his body, too, though it may 
become old and feeble, will show the wages of a good 
life’s service. 

“And, so as our comrade explained heaven and 
hell, I think in either place we go right on saving, our 
wages keep on increasing. 

“You know how low a man can get here, you have 
seen men and women who it almost made you shudder 
to look at, whose lives seemed as black as midnight 
to themselves and everybody else. You have heard of 
such men and women killing themselves, though they 
know there is a hell waiting for them they feel that it 
cannot be any worse and it will be a change, but if a 
man can get so miserable, so terribly wicked, here on 
earth, with all the good people and with God watching 
him, can you imagine what he will be in a hundred 
years, a thousand years, or ten thousand, amongst all 
the scoundrels of this earth and with the devil and his 
angels for company and without any God to influence 
him? 

“Friends, are you having a good time? Do your 
wages satisfy you? Do you want to go to that place 
of misery and sin? Do you want to spend eternity 
with drunkards, liars and devils? If not, come and 
kneel down by the side of this brother.” 

He dropped back to his place, there was a moment’s 
silence, then the leader arose with the elder man; the 
others had already arisen. 

Hallelujahs came from one and another, the big 


Ibelen parF^er 


107 


drum was snatched up and joined in a song of rejoicing, 
while the faces of all the band shone with happiness. 

Then, each of the converts spoke a few words of the 
great change in them; was it not a miracle. Helen 
looked into their faces curiously. At that last invita- 
tion she had had a strong and almost uncontrollable 
inclination to join them by the big drum, but the 
minute had passed and the chance was gone, the meet- 
ing was over and the leader giving an invitation to all 
to come to the hall. 

She turned to look at Miss Ames, her face looked 
more beautiful than ever; it shone, she was smiling, 
her eyes glistened. 

The big drum struck up^ the line quickly formed and 
they were gone. She gazed after them as they 
marched, with their peculiar long, undulating stride, 
two of the women thrumming upon their tambourines, 
the four new converts with the little boy running by 
his mother’s side, close behind, a short interval, and 
then the motley, wretched crowd — and tears came to 
her eyes. 

They were gone — she had forgotten herself and all 
else and now, with a sigh, consciousness of herself 
came back to her, she must go back to work. As she 
turned her eyes encountered a face, questioning and 
yet hopeful, a face full of strange sympathy and emo- 
tion. 

Its gaze was directly toward her, but now as she 
looked, it disappeared; was it the face of a man or 
woman; she could hardly tell, the features had been 
so subordinate to the expression. 


CHAPTER XII 


The “open air” of the Salvationists had greatly 
impressed Helen. The sweet calm face of Miss Ames, 
the plain dark face of the captain, the pinched, sin- 
scarred faces of the onlookers, the bowed forms 
around the old drum, and then their changed faces, 
which told the miracle of conversion stronger than any 
words, kept coming into her mind, but, more than all, 
that inquiring, anxious face kept haunting her. For a 
week she often found herself puzzling her brains over 
it, and trying to recall those features. 

For the first time in her life she had been stirred 
religiously. She had often gone with her mother to a 
certain very fashionable church, but had had about as 
much religious thought awakened there, as at other 
times when they visited the theater together. 

But now, these plain-spoken words somehow had 
gone straight to her heart as the truth. That dark- 
faced, earnest-speaking man had not been telling some 
great lie, nor Miss Ames. It had instigated compar- 
isons between those Army lassies and herself — their 
happiness and hers, their usefulness, their aims and 
expectations. It had led her to look upon herself and 
inquire: what was the use of her living — only a mat- 
ter of accommodation, to match and measure off fine 
ribbons for the fine ladies, and to turn the bulk of her 
wages over to her landlady, who accepted it so com- 
io8 


t>elen iparfeet 


109 


placently — to inquire if it were possible that this 
uneventful, wretched life had all this time been lead- 
ing her to, that each day was bringing her nearer, 
another world and death, how awful it seemed to her. 

One night she picked up a Bible and found herself 
reading from it, here a '.a there a verse. With a con- 
temptuous smile at herself, marvelously like her 
mother’s when the subject was brought up seriously, 
she laid it down, and turned to her paper-covered 
romance; how much more interesting. 

One Saturday night she was leaving the store with 
the other clerks when a young man in the crowd 
pressed a card into her hand. She did not look at it, 
she was watching his face; it was the same, which had 
been puzzling her so of late. 

She watched him as he unobtrusively handed cards 
to several others and then turned and came up the 
street toward her, she felt an irresistible impulse to 
speak to him and slacken her speed that he might over- 
take her, but he was a stranger, what could she say to 
him? 

She looked down at the card, she would ask him 
some question about it. It was an invitation to 

Special Meetings at Methodist Church. On 

it were several Bible verses and the pastor’s name. 

He was just behind her. “Please, sir, when do 
these begin?’’ she asked, holding up the card. 

“The date is on there — next Saturday night and at 
7:30 each evening; see the fine print down at the bot- 
tom.” 

“Oh, yes, sir,” aqd then they walked along a little 


no 


Ibelen patftet 


way in silence, he seeming undecided whether to con- 
tinue in conversation or to resume his former pace and 
leave her behind. 

But Helen’s curiosity was aroused. 

“You — you aren’t — I was going to ask if you was the 
preacher, but you are too young,’’ and she laughed 
confusedly. 

“Oh, no,’’ he replied, smiling, “I am a clerk in 
Rich, White & Hall’s.’’ 

“Why is that so; where at; what part?’’ 

“Hat department; second floor.’’ 

“You haven’t been there long?’’ 

“No, only a week.’’ 

“I’m in the ribbons, first floor; I hadn’t seen you 
before — except — ’ ’ 

“You saw me watching you the other night.’’ 

She did not ask when nor why, but simply answered, 
“Yes.’’ 

“I suppose you thought me impolite, or, at least, 
queer?’’ he asked, “but I saw you were interested and 
I was so anxious that you should become a Christian, I 
forgot myself.’’ 

She wondered at this remark. 

“What! You mean that I should kneel down by that 
drum and join the Salvation Army?’’ she asked, doubt- 
fully. 

“Yes, that is as good a way as any, I guess, to 
begin, or, if you’d rather, join some church; this whole 
earth was made to glorify God in, and it don’t make 
so much difference where you do it, as how.’’ 

“I don’t — never — believed in such things,’’ she 


Ibelen patftet 


III 


explained, “but somehow I was interested in their 
meeting. I never stopped to listen to them before — 
much. It seemed to me that that girl that sang alone 
was about the prettiest I ever saw, and I don’t know 
why either, for I know 1 have seen prettier.” 

“She has a beautiful, good, face; she does more 
good in this world than a hundred common persons,” 
he replied, enthusiastically. 

“Do you know her?” she could not help asking. 
“She has a beautiful voice, I thought, and she seems 
so modest, too; she does not try to show it off.” 

“Yes, I never get tired of listening to her sing; I 
know her from going to their meetings, but only as a 
hundred others know her. I’m a great admirer of the 
Army,” he continued, earnestly, “their ways seem 
queer, they sing funny songs and make lots of noise, 
but, back of it all, are hundreds of earnest, conse- 
crated, beautiful lives, compared to which many of 
those who stand and jest and laugh, as they go by, 
are miserable nothings. I really think, if a test were 
taken of true courage, some of those Army girls 
would stand at the head, above the wonderful heroes 
the world makes so much fuss over — going down into 
the slums, anywhere, fighting crime and poverty, help- 
ing the sick, doing good wherever they can — no salary, 
no position to back them up, speaking to any one of 
their religion. For true boldness, I don’t believe some 
of them can be beaten anywhere. I can’t do that; I 
want to see people saved, I would like above anything 
else to be the means of saving them, but, as for going 
to some of the people they do, it seems like I could 


II2 


Ibelen parftet 


no more do it than I could fly — just in distributing 
these cards I pick out those who I think won’t laugh 
at me, and yet I despise myself for my cowardice.” 

“You thought I wouldn’t laugh?” she asked, glanc- 
ing over at him with a queer expression on her face. 

“Yes, from the inUrest you showed the other night. 
Some of the girls don’t seem to know they have a 
soul; I pity some of them — but I wish you would keep 
thinking about this. Go to the Army meetings when 
you can, and come to these meetings at our church. 
I will tell you, a Christian life is the best way to live 
here and then you are ready to die any time, you can 
be sure of a better world ahead — Well I must go 
down this street — I will see you again. The boss told 
me to-night that I would go down into the shoe 
department next week.” 

“Oh, you will take Carr’s place; yes, that’s not far 
from me.” 

Strange thoughts filled Helen’s mind as she went on 
to her room; what a strange young man, a religious 
young man; she had never met one before that she 
could remember of; she had hardly believed there 
could be such a young man as she had just met, that 
talked of religion and thought so much of the church 
and Salvationists. She had not, for a moment, doubted 
the sincerity of his words; the hypocritical do not talk 
as he had, and their words somehow cannot make the 
impression that his words had made upon her. 

But she would see; she would study him to see if 
there was really anything in religion — but pshaw, and 
she made a hasty review of her past 


ftelenparftet 


113 

“I should think there 'ud more believe in it. As 
long as I’ve lived I never had anything to do with a 
young man that pretended to be religious; some of ’em 
go to church sometimes, but only because it was some 
place to go; my mother went to the some- 

times and I went with her, but if that was being a 
Christian I don’t care to be one,” and her lips curled 
in scorn, as they always did at thought of her mother. 

“But even if he was a Christian why should he try 
to get other people to be; how strange that these Sal- 
vationists should work so, and why should it make 
them so happy to have such poor miserable drunken 
converts? 

“Even if she could become a Christian she didn’t 
see why she need go around pleading with others; they 
had the same chance; they could be Christians if they 
wanted to; she wouldn’t go to a person only to be 
laughed at, to be met with ingratitude and disdain — 
not she.” 

But her ears still rang with the earnest praise of this 
strange young man — of the courage and goodness and 
unselfishness of the Salvationists — how her opinion of 
these people had been changed in the last week! She 
could not help thinking, too, of her father; how she 
had despised him, and of the sharp contrast between 
her attitude toward him and their unselfish labor for 
and welcome of those as bad or worse than he who 
had no ties of friendship or relationship — and her con- 
science hurt her. 

But why — why all these comparisons, these thoughts, 
this change of veiw; why this rehearsal of her past 


Ibelen parfeer 


114 


life; why this examination of her present conditions 
and aims? She did not know — she had talked five 
minutes with a young man, whose name she did not 
even know — she had listened a half-hour perhaps to a 
band of Salvationists — that was all — everything else 
about her was just the same. 

Time went by, the young man came down into the 
shoe department and she had plenty of opportunities 
for watching him, but he seemed very quiet. He rarely 
spoke to her only as a greeting. He was very different 
in manner from the other male clerks. He was polite 
and painstaking with his customers. He was continu- 
ally giving out those cards and had been heard talk- 
ing religion with some of his customers. Some of the 
girls had told her about it, with much giggling — 
which, somehow, had jarred on her as unpleasant. 
But, above all, she noticed that very often he was 
watching her — sometimes with admiration but more 
often with a questioning and undecided expres- 
sion. 

The proprietor of the store had set aside a room in 
the basement for a lunch room and here the clerks 
were wont to gather in sections, to engage in conver- 
sation and enjoy a brief relaxation while appeasing 
their hunger. 

Harry Spencer, for that she found to be his name, 
ate at the same time as she did, but always sat at some 
distance from the others, watching them, taking little 
part in the conversation, laughing with the others at 
times, but sometimes turning his eyes away in seem- 
ing aversion or displeasure. 


Tbelen patfeer 


ns 

Sometimes he would seem greatly amused by little 
Mertie Jones, a golden-haired, blue-eyed, shallow- 
brained creature, who could go on indefinitely, telling 
of her latest fellows, her dresses and bonnets and 
gloves, always talking, always lively, never a sober 
thought; sometimes he seemed to weary of her endless 
chatter, sometimes he seemed to pity May Patterson, 
who was always quarreling with the boys and whose 
whole idea of conversation seemed to be in exchang- 
ing jibes. 

Helen often glanced at him to see how he was 
regarding them, and somehow felt that he was watch- 
ing her more than the others, though he always 
averted his eyes when she looked toward him. 

This surveillance acted differently upon her at 
different times. Sometimes she would grow silent if 
not thoughtful, sometimes she would try to forget 
him, and yet all the time having that uneasy sensation 
one has when the object, or the fancied object, of 
scrutiny. Sometimes she did not care or else, rebelling 
against the strange influence, would become the gayest 
of them all. 

One day she seemed to have a specially strong 
inspiration to mischief; catching one of the boys by 
the arm, she pulled him out into the middle of the 
'floor and they began a lively waltz up and down the 
room, with extravagant gestures, he swinging her 
clear of the floor at the ends. Quickly another couple 
joined them, then others until all but Harry and one 
of the girls were whirling on the floor. She had been 
afraid to ask him and he had not offered his hand, but 


n6 


Ibelen ipacfeet 


sat gravely eating his dinner, though there was a per- 
ceptible flush upon his cheeks. 

Presently they stopped and came back laughing, to 
their unfinished dinners, and several immediately 
began to make sport of him for his bashfulness, back- 
wardness or incompetency, according to which they 
thought the cause of his failure to join them, but he 
only answered their jests and taunts by the words, “I 
never danced.” 

This caused pretended horror and questions as to 
where he had been brought up, etc., until Helen, 
jumping up, began to sing a song she had heard at the 
theatre the night before, imitating also the motions 
and swagger of the stage beauty whom she had heard. 

She was given loud applause and thus encouraged 
gave them an entertainment after the manner of the 
popular song and dance artist, and with such a vim 
and spirit that there many exclamations of surprise, 
when she had finished, and little Mertie came running 
to congratulate her and to assure her that she must 
certainly go on the stage. 

But she had caught sight of his eyes upon her, 
watching her, and her scarlet face, which her friends 
supposed came from her exertions, was rather the 
result of a sensation of shame that came over her, 
and, sitting down, she quietly finished her dinner in 
spite of the protests. 

But, having started this form of amusement, it did 
not stop so easily. It was a delight to the boys, and 
others of the girls were willing to please them, so one 
after another of them contributed some popular ditty 


Ibelen parser 


117 

or some new dance and it is needless to say, ex- 
pressions came from their lips that it were far better 
had been left unsaid, while movements were executed 
which are generally supposed to be left entirely to the 
professional actress. 

Some of the quieter of the clerks began to make 
objections and to shame some of the participants, 
and, strange to say, Helen, toward the last, joined in 
with them. She had been watching and comparing 
the actions and attitude of Harry and those of Tom 
Jeffries, John Oleson and some of the other male 
clerks. They had been cheering and inciting the girls 
to greater efforts, and, upon their faces, was the 
expression of sensual pleasure. He had seemed shocked 
and saddened by their recklessness and abandon. 

As they went back to their work Helen felt an 
impulse to speak to him, to show him in some way 
that she was sorry for what she had done, but she 
could think of nothing she could, or that she would, 
say. Anyhow, she wasn’t going to apologize to him; 
she could do as she wanted to, and again she won- 
dered why she cared so much for his good opinion — 
and so she passed him with assumed indifference, 
though, as if compelled, she could not help but catch 
his glance, as though he sought to read her thoughts. 


CHAPTER XIII 


As the days went by, time somewhat deadened the 
stirring up, the almost upheaval of thoughts, ideas 
and conscience, that had come from the Salvationists’ 
meeting, and it would have soon become to Helen 
and uninfluencing, if not a forgotten, event of the 
past, had it not been for Harry Spencer. 

But he had become a sort of daily exponent and 
reminder of religion to her. She often wondered, as 
certain events or thoughts came to her, how he would 
look at them from his standpoint. She was still often 
trying to recall and puzzling over that expression, that 
had so affected her that night, or, often when unoccu- 
pied, that quiet, pure face of Miss Ames, would come 
creeping upon her memory, and sometimes, in unex- 
plainable contrast, beside it would appear the gaunt 
dissipated features of her father. She would find her- 
self wondering about the wages of good and evil, or 
picturing, with vivid grotesqueness, that idea of hell 
where all the wicked should be gathered together, and 
those that reject Christ. 

Sometimes, when upon the street, she would look 
about her and think of the God above, looking down. 
How impossible it seemed that a Savior was watching 
it all from above, and longing to be, as the Salvation- 
ist had said, a friend to everybody! How near and 
real was all the sin and ignorance and poverty of the 
city! There was a slouchy little newsboy, and there a 

ii8 


Ibelen ipatfeet 


iig 

dirty-faced bootblack; they had probably never heard 
of him. There is a butcher chasing and swearing at a 
dog, there a coachman lashing his horses. Did he 
realize he was mistreating a creature of God’s, before 
his eyes? There goes a ragged, ugly, negro and there 
an ink-splashed printer’s devil; there a sailor, by his 
gait, and there a flashily-dressed woman hurrying 
along; there a drunken tramp and there a fat, white- 
aproned bar-keeper. Multitudes are coming and going, 
street cars are full, hacks are flying around, bells ringing 
and whistles blowing, yet she could not see one who she 
thought was thinking about Christ; she could not hear 
anyone talking about him. All were busy concerning 
this earth and perfectly unconscious of an invisible 
Friend. 

But against all these doubts — or not doubts, for she 
had never been convinced — but against her unbelief 
there was, besides the talks and testimonials of that 
“open air,’’ the testimony and presence of this reli- 
gious young man, a yet stronger evidence and one that 
she could not explain away. 

It was Saturday night again, the only night on which 
he was relieved at the same time she was, and they 
walked down the street together as before. 

“Oh dear,’’ commenced Helen, “hasn’t this been a 
mean, hateful, busy day?’’ 

“It was a little warmer and less windy than yester- 
day, I believe,’’ he replied with a smile. 

“Oh, well, I didn’t mean that; I meant in the store. 
I get so tired and hot that I can hardly answer people 
decently, and it seems like, always on our busiest 


120 


Ibelen parftet 


days, I have some of the worst customers, that stand 
around and look and look and plan over and explain, 
where they can use this ribbon or that, or where some 
will show off the best, and they ask foolish questions, 
or maybe try to haggle you down on price — I get so 
tired of it some days [with a forced laugh] that I most 
wish I was dead.” 

‘‘You must have had a blue Saturday,” said Harry, 
laughing. ‘‘Well, I know how to sympathize with 
you, for I have a day now and then, when Tm dis- 
couraged and everything seems to go wrong.” 

‘‘Whew, it was so hot to-day, for a spring day,” 
continued Helen, ‘‘it made me think of Africa, and 
the more I thought of it the more I envied the 
Africans, just lying around in the shade, or going 
around anywhere they want to, in the fresh air and 
looking at the beautiful scenery, maybe going fishing. 
They don’t have to bother about clothes, and when 
they get hungry they can just pick some bananas or a 
cocoanut — and they have plenty of monkeys there to 
amuse them — my, wouldn’t it be fine.” 

‘‘I’m afraid you’d soon want to come back,” he 
replied, laughing at her half serious, half jesting air, 
‘‘to the land of schools and churches, and fine clothes 
and ribbons; why, if one of those African girls could 
get hold of some of those fine ribbons you handle so 
carelessly, she’d be happy all the rest of her days, and 
if she could dress as you are now, she’d be the envied 
of all Africa.” 

‘‘Yes, 1 suppose so; I used to think it would be 
great fun to sell ribbons, but I’m tired enough of it 


Tbelen parser 


I2I 


now; it seems like I’d rather be anything else» from a 
Zulu girl to a Greenlander.” 

“Anything for a change of country — well, there is a 
country that I have heard a good deal about, that I 
want to go to, the fact is, I’m planning to go there, now.” 

“Why, is that so; when are you going; is it in 
Europe, France; oh. I’d like to go there.” 

“No, it’s not there, and I hardly know when I will 
go, but here’s the descriptions of the place,” and he 
drew a small book from his inner coat pocket. 
“You’ve seen me reading from it, I expect. Whenever 
I get a blue day like you had to-day, I just read in it 
and it cures me every time. It gives me patience to 
work here a little longer.” 

“Why, it’s music,” cried Helen. 

“Yes, it’s a hymnal.” 

“There is a land of pure delight, 

Where saints immortal reign, 

Infinite da)’- excludes the night. 

And pleasures banish pain. 

There everlasting spring abides. 

And never withering flowers. 

Death, like a narrow sea, divides 
This heavenly land from ours. 

Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood, 

Stand dressed in living green. 

So to the Jews old Canaan stood. 

While Jordan rolled between. 

Could we but climb where Moses stood. 

And view the landscape o’er 

Not Jordan’s stream, nor death’s cold flood, 

Should fright us from the shore,’’ 


T22 


Ibelen parfter 


“That is beautiful,” said Helen. 

“Yes, let me read part of another, the next one.” 

“On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand, 

And cast a wistful eye, 

To Canaan’s fair and happy land, 

Where my possessions lie. 

No chilling winds, or poisonous breath. 

Can reach that healthful shore ; 

Sickness and sorrow, pain and death, 

Are felt and feared no more. 

There is an hour of peaceful rest. 

To mourning wanderers given. 

There is a joy for souls distressed, 

A balm for every wounded breast, 

’Tis found above in heaven. 

There is a home for weary souls, 
sin and sorrow driven. 

When tossed on life’s tempestuous shoals, 

Where storms arise and ocean rolls 
And all is drear — ’tis heaven. 

There is a land mine eye hath seen. 

In visions of enraptured thought. 

So bright that all that spreads between, 

Is with its radiant glories fraught.” 

“And now here’s one more and a favorite.” 

“Far from these scenes of night. 

Unbounded glories rise 
And realms of joy and pure delight. 

Unknown to mortal eyes. 

Fair land ! could mortal eyes. 

But half its chaims explore 


ibelen ipavfter 


123 


How would our spirits long to rise, 

And dwell on earth no more. 

No cloud these regions know, 

Realms ever bright and fair 

For sin, the source of mortal woe, 

Can never enter there. 

Oh, may the prospects fire 
Our hearts with ardent love 

’Till wings of faith and strong desire 
Bear every thought above 

Prepared by grace divine, 

For thy bright courts on high. 

Lord bid our spirits rise and join, 

The chorus of the sky.” 

“That’s the country I want to go to; I have no 
special ambition here and no special talent. I never 
expect to be rich, famous or good-looking, but I do 
want to be ready and prepared to go to that better 
land. 

“You go to any place in this world and in time you 
would get tired of it; you know how soon any 
coveted possessions or position, when secured, gives 
way to something else you covet just as much, and 
how unsatisfying the world’s pleasures are. Man is 
too big for this world. We were not made to work in a 
department store for all time.” 

'' “I should hope not,’’ ejaculated Helen, fervently. 

“No, I venture to say you and I will not work in 
one for even a hundred years — but really, Miss 
Parker, it is strange if we took the trouble to think of 
it, how just such work develops us and how soon we 


124 


Ibelen patF^ct 


get used to and careless of things about us that it 
would seem were wonderful enough to keep us inter- 
ested. We come into the world babies in body — no 
strength, no skill, no knowledge, no ambition. We 
find that in the world which develops our bodies. We 
have something in us susceptible to practice so that 
we may become skillful. We have an instinct of imita- 
tion and learn to talk from hearing others. We see a 
scholar and want to become one. We see the advan- 
tages of a rich man and try to become rich. We go to 
school and learn rapidly so that we soon say we have 
had enough of that, we have learned all that we need 
to learn from such books. We go to work, say in a 
department store; we see and handle and sell the prod- 
ucts of ingenuity, skill and capital but we come to 
think nothing of them. We see people of every sort of 
feature, voice and manner, but we come so soon only 
to look on them impartially and in a cold-blooded 
manner as customers; we say we are soon tired of it. 
We perhaps get a chance to travel about; it is pleas- 
anter, but, queerly enough, we get tired of riding in 
the cars and we get tired of seeing so many people and 
hearing them talk, and our emotion or whatever it is that 
is pleased in a little while refuses to be very much 
stirred by anything new. People who follow pleasure 
and gratification become blase and weary and know 
not which way to turn. Religious people come to care 
little for this earth, only as it suggests to their minds 
a better place, and, as they think they see in it a 
needful place as a training school for them. 

“So while men can in a way outgrow this world or 


Tbelen parftet 


125 


their place in the world it seems to me that if they 
have an ambition to do something they can make a 
good deal of life, and they can keep up an interest 
that will make life pleasant. We know of men who 
have studied, whose thirst for knowledge has never 
been satisfied and who wished for more time that they 
might study more. There have been artists and 
famous people perhaps whose ambition has not been 
contented with what they knew or had, but most of 
us are above such things. The great men you see are 
the servants and must work hard — but we common 
people cannot keep interested — we don’t see the object 
in working so hard, we can’t see the point, as they 
say, in learning so much. Well, perhaps we can have 
an ambition that is easier for us; we make up our mind 
we are going to be good. Perhaps we find that 
keeps us quite busy and we find something quite inter- 
esting in it, too. We’ve got some studying to do, to see 
what makes us want to do such mean things. We have 
to think some to see what is the best thing we can do 
and how we will do it. We are interested by strange 
things, for what is stranger than some of the strange 
thoughts and inspirations that come to us. Then, 
perhaps, we branch out a little and say we are going 
to help somebody; we are going to do something for 
somebody else; well, when we do that we have to 
know more, think harder and work more. We are apt 
to find ourselves very busy, and we’re apt to lose sight 
of a good many little things that used to worry us and 
to find ourselves very much interested indeed. The 
world was made for man and, while I think man was 


126 


Ibelen iparftet 


made for something bigger and better than the world, 
the main thing is to make the most use of .it and keep 
ourselves interested. I think one of the best ways is to 
have something to look ahead to, something we are 
anxious to do — but anyway, we are pretty apt to strike 
a good many lessons in patience and we’re apt to com- 
plain more or less. But here I’ve been giving you a 
lesson in patience sure enough. I have been talking 
away like I was a preacher — you know you asked me 
one time, when you first saw me, if I wasn’t a 
preacher, and I’m afraid you’ll find I am. 

“Here we are at our corner. Well, I hope you will 
get over this spell of discouragement,’’ he continued, 
turning and looking into her bright face, 

“Ah, I believe you are over it already; no doubt my 
dismal talk, by contrast, has driven away the blues; 
anyhow, you’ll have a Sunday to rest up and will 
come around Monday as fresh as a lark.’’ 

“Oh, I expect I shall,’’ said Helen, laughing, “but I 
don’t know, not having seen any lark, that I can com- 
prehend the force of that comparison.’’ 

“Well then. I’ll say, as fresh as a frog, and as 
lively as a grasshopper — will that do?’’ 

“Yes, I guess that’s a little better.’’ 

“Well, that is my wish, then — and also that your 
head shall be so clear that all their haggling and plan- 
ning will go right through without stopping, and so — 
not annoy you.’’ 

“I very kindly thank you,’’ said Helen, with a grave 
bow, “did you say empty?’’ 

“No, oh no — I must change my wish, so there will 


Ibelen parfeet 


127 


be no danger of misunderstanding me — that it may be 
so full of better things that there will be no room for 
their jabber — now.” 

‘‘Perfectly good.” 

‘‘Well, if that is all satisfactory then Miss Parker,” 
he continued, becoming serious, ‘‘may I ask you how 
you spend your Sundays?” 

‘‘Well, I generally sleep till nine or ten and then I 
get up and sit around and read, maybe, until dinner 
time. Then, some of the boys generally come and 
get me,” she continued, with a blush, “and we go rid- 
ing or walking or somewhere, maybe go to see some 
of the girls, or to some concert or lecture or opera, 
there’s always plenty of places to go. Then, when I 
get back I spend the rest of the time most anyway, but 
generally in dreading getting up early the next morn- 
ing and going to work.” 

He had listened eagerly and now he asked, ‘‘May I 
come around and get you to-morrow afternoon and take 
you somewhere? I will try to give you a good time.” 

‘‘I thought you didn’t believe in having a good time 
on Sunday,” she asked, looking puzzled. 

“No, indeed, I have a good time every Sunday; it is 
the pleasantest day of the week for me — and, I 
believe, I can show you as good a time as any of 
those other fellows, if you will allow me.” 

‘‘Why, yes. I’ll go.” 

‘‘I’ll be around about one-thirty then, shall I?” 

‘‘Yes, that will be all right.” 

He hesitated for a minute, then said: ‘‘I would be 
glad to see you out to our church in the morning.” 


128 


Ibelen patfeet 


“No, I am too tired, I must sleep,” and, with these 
words, they separated; they had been standing upon 
the corner for some time, and now they went to their 
homes. 


CHAPTER XIV 

At the appointed time Harry presented himself at 
the residence or boarding house of Mrs. Gray, where 
Helen stayed. She was ready only for putting on her 
hat, and was evidently now in high spirits for she 
danced before her mirror as a little child would have 
done, and when they started she chattered away gaily 
enough. 

“Where are we going?” she presently asked, wonder- 
ingly. His declaration of having a good time was 
unreconciled to her somewhat vague ideas of a Chris- 
tian. “Or is it some surprise, some wonderful place 
I have never heard of?” 

“Yes, it is a very wonderful place,” said Harry, 
suddenly laughing, “we will get on this car and then 
I will tell you all about it.” 

“Now, let me see,” he began, when they were seated 
and Helen had turned expectantly toward him, “I 
hardly know how to describe it, but it is a manufactur- 
ing place where hundreds of beautiful ornaments of 
every shape, size, color and shade imaginable are 
made.” 

“What are they made of?” 

“Well, they are all made of one substance, and that 
is the strangest part of it, it is a common-looking 
mixture, too, if you would see it you wouldn’t think it 
was much. It is composed of different ingredients I 

129 


130 


l3e!en parfter 


suppose, but I guess it is a secret how they are mixed, 
at least I never saw anyone that knew, and how the 
things that come from it — are made of it — can have so 
many different colors, and can look so different and 
feel so different I can’t see.” 

“From one substance, you say. Why, what could it 
be like? I suppose they must mould it into different 
shapes and then paint it or stain it.” 

“No, they are made with all the colors right in 
them. Did you ever see a glass blower put some of his 
coloring on the glass and then blow it all through? 
Well, the color spreads out through all these ornaments 
as they are made in about the same way, I guess.” 

‘‘My, are you sure it isn’t glass you’re talking about?” 

‘‘Yes, I’m sure it isn’t glass.” 

‘‘Well, what color is it, what shape are the orna- 
ments, as you call them; are they tough and hard, or 
soft and pliable?” 

‘‘First, the color of the substance is generally dark 
or reddish; second, the ornaments are all shapes and 
sizes, some are slender and fragile, some are round 
and hard and heavy, some are star-shaped, but they 
are all perfect and symmetrical, all shapes and sizes 
and colors imaginable, some of them soft and some of 
them hard, but all of them beautiful and most of them 
of some use, too.” 

‘‘Oh, dear, I know you could tell me about them if 
you only would; where is the place, anyway; it’s funny 
I never heard of it.” 

‘‘It’s outside the city a little ways; it’s quite a large 
place.” 


Ibelen iparfeev 


131 


“Do they only make them at this one place?” 

“Oh, there are places here in the city where they 
make imitations but they are not as good, and they are 
made of different compositions, too; none of them can 
make them so perfect.” 

“And can we see them at work; can we buy any of 
them?” asked Helen, eagerly. 

“I wouldn’t try to buy any to-day, this is Sunday, 
you know, but I think I can get one for nothing, as a 
keepsake:” 

The conductor had just given his last cry and the 
train started, so, for a few minutes they were occupied 
in watching the diminishing crowd at the depot and 
the flying panorama of human beings and their dwell- 
ings, but presently Helen turned again with a puzzled 
look, “Those objects must be very valuable, I don’t 
see how you can get one.” 

“Well, I am a friend of his,” said Harry, “and he 
will give most anything to his friends.” 

“You surely know the names of some of them, 
don’t you?” 

“Why, they most all have Latin names, I guess; 
there’s the Dulcis, the Flos, the Dianthus, the 
Acorus, the Canvallaria, the Viola, and a good many 
others of different shapes, but I can’t remember 

them. ” 

“Oh, dear,” sighed Helen, with such well-pretended 
despair, that they both laughed heartily and long, and 

then, seeing that they were attracting attention, they 
began to talk of the objects of interest they were so 
rapidly passing. 


132 


Ibelen patfeer 


On and on from between the tall smoky buildings, 
rattling over crossings^ out into the poverty-stricken 
suburbs and then bursting out into the bright, beauti- 
ful, sunlight country. 

It was the middle of May, though it had been so hot 
and close in the store the air was balmy out here and 
a delightful breeze came sweeping through the open 
car window. The trees were beautiful with their white 
and pink blossoms, the birds were singing, the grass 
was wonderfully green, the creeks, as they passed 
over, were sparkling in the bright sunshine, the horses 
and cattle were playfully running and kicking at the 
shriek of the engine whistle. 

None can enjoy the freedom and beauty and purity 
of nature as those who have been retrained inside four 
narrow walls, and besieged by the rattle and din of 
commerce. And so this common May afternoon country 
scene, brought a thrill of pleasure to these two young 
people, unknown to the sluggish farmer who stands so 
carelessly throwing corn over upon and among his 
swarm of squealing, fighting pigs. 

Their squeals and maneuverings tickle Helen and 
she laughs at them as long as she can see them, but 
their train soon slows [down, for a town, and Harry 
catches her by the arm and tells her they are at their 
destination. 

As they alight she laughs at the smallness of the 
town, but they had not come to see that, so, after 
watching the train puff away, they set out on foot, 
back over the track on which they had just come, to a 
creek about a half mile away. 


l3elen parser 


35 


Helen seemed in a perfect ecstacy of delight, walk- 
ing part of the time on the steel rail and having Harry 
walk at her side to catch her when she fell, sometimes 
half running, half sliding down the grade to get some 
flower, and returning breathless with her trophy, once 
running to a pasture fence to pet a small calf and 
laughing as he went scampering madly away in fear. 

“Oh, isn’t this beautiful,’’ she cried, “how green 
the grass is, and how clear the air seems,’’ and she 
drew in several long, deep breaths, “and see how far 
you can see!’’ 

“Yes, it is all beautiful,’’ he replied, “spring is here; 
see, there is a robin and the leaves are almost out; let 
us go down on this side,’’ and they turned down a 
path, crawled under a fence and entered the timber.’’ 

“Oh, isn’t this fine,’’ she cried over and over, 
“aren’t those nice trees — they are oak, aren’t they?’ 

“Mostly; there are some maple and some walnut.” 

Just then he stooped over and picked an extra large 
and beautiful violet which, half hidden amongst the 
leaves, had escaped her detection. 

“How sweet,” she cried, enthusiastically as he held 
it up, “of course I’d have to miss it.” 

“But never mind. I’ll give it to you — for a keepsake 
of this afternoon.” 

Something in his words seemed to attract her atten- 
tion, for raising herself upon her tip-toes she whirled 
slowly around, taking a long glance in every direction. 

“What are you looking for?” asked Harry, in pre- 
tended wonder. 

“I thought you was going to take me to a manufac- 


134 


fl^eien parser 


turing place,” she replied poutingly, “I might have 
known you were fooling me.” 

“No, but I wasn’t,” he replied, this is the place; 
here is some of the substance,” and he kicked up 
some of the rich black dirt with his toe, “it is dark 
and not reddish here, and that violet I gave you, that 
fern, that moss, that dandelion, this beautiful oak, and 
yonder walnut are some of the ornaments I told you 
of. Are they not perfect in shape and coloring? Are 
they not, some of them, hard and some of the tender 
and fragile?” 

“I’m sorry if I have disappointed you,” he con- 
tinued, noticing her still pouting lips, ‘‘I raised your 
expectations too high, but think hard now and tell 
me if I have told you anything that isn’t true.” 

“Oh, I guess not,” she replied, a smile chasing 
away the scowl, “it was all on account of that Latin. 
If rd known that you wouldn’t have fooled me so 
easy. I thought, of course, anything having such 
names must be very wonderful.” 

“And they are wonderful,” he replied, “you 
thought I meant something made by some wonderful 
man, but these are made by him who made all men — 
men's most beautiful things are only dead imitations, 
and if you can think of anything more wonderful than 
that those little green leaves should shoot up out of 
that black substance we call dirt and expand and send 
up this small stem and then a green bud, opening up 
the tightly-wrapped purple and blue leaves into a 
beautiful flower, then in a little while dying down 
until next violet time comes. I’d like to know what it 


Delen parfeet 


135 


is. I remember reading a poem one time in which the 
author held in his hand a complete violet, stem, roots 
and leaves and addressed it something like this: 

“ ‘Oh, violet, tell me what thou art and I will tell 
you what both man and God are.’ Those aren’t the 
words but that is the idea. Well, let us go down by 
that bluff and I think we will find some more of those 
beautiful ornaments.” 

It was as he said and the hours flew swiftly as they 
hunted the sly blossoms, swung upon the large 
dangling grape vines, listened to the birds singing and 
stood upon the bank of the creek watching the min- 
nows darting here and there, their white sides flashing 
in the sunlight. But at last they retired, tired and 
satisfied, to an old log, to rest and to rearrange and 
admire their boquets. 

“Are you still disappointed?” asked Harry. 

‘‘No, indeed, I never had such a nice time,” she 
cried enthusiastically, ‘‘don’t it seem nice to get clear 
away from everybody; do you come out here often?” 

‘‘I have been out here several times,” he replied, 
more soberly, ‘‘alone — 1 like to come to a place like 
this where I am free and can think and realize.” 

‘‘Think and realize what?” she asked, curiously. 

‘‘Oh, so many things, for instance there are these 
things growing up around us, all so different, and yet 
as far as we can see, under the same conditions, and 
then 1 think of their relation to man and his adapta- 
tion to them, or maybe 1 watch an ant at work, or a 
minnow or a squirrel, and so I think of the God that 
made all these things — and I have realized here more 


136 


•fcelen parfeet 


than any where else how small and ignorant and insig- 
nificant I am. We crush an ant under our feet, it seems 
so small; and yet, compared to the wisdom of God, we 
are far smaller.” 

‘‘How do you know there is a God?” she asked, after 
a short pause. ‘‘You cannot see him and it seems so 
strange.” 

‘‘No, we cannot see him — we have five physical 
senses given us that we might apprehend the things of 
this earth, and we are apt to think that anything we 
cannot see, taste, smell, feel or hear, does not exist. 
If we didn’t have any of those senses we could say 
there was nothing — no matter, no substance, couldn’t 
we?” 

‘‘I suppose so — and yet there could be, only we 
wouldn’t know it.” 

‘‘Yes, there certainly could; well, I think we have 
five corresponding senses inside of us; not so clearly 
defined, perhaps, nor so easily measured. I think 
we have a spiritual sight, I think we have a sense by 
which we can hear the voice of God’s spirit. It might 
be our conscience or at least related to it, so I think 
we have that which feels love and joy and peace and 
sadness, and the presence of the Spirit. We have a 
taste, besides that, physically, for what is best for 
our spiritual being, and, instead of smelling that that 
is pleasant or distasteful to us, we have a sense of 
discernment corresponding to it. But that is not 
answering your question. 

‘‘We have so many things. Miss Parker, in nature 
and in us that we believe in, and yet they are apparent 


tbelen patF^et 


137 


to US only through results. You say that tree is alive. 
I might say, how do you know it is. You cannot see it 
grow. Its life is not apparent through the senses, you 
can say, come back here in one year, it will be larger 
then and that will show it. If I hold out this flower and 
let go of it you say it will drop to the ground — the 
result of gravitation. You say a person is happy or 
discouraged. You say there is love and hatred — 
because you see the result. You see a fine painting, 
you say it was a great artist that painted that. How do 
you know there ever was such a man — because of the 
picture and because people say there was.” 

“Yes, I see how that is.” 

“Well I say there is a God, because of this world, 
this flower, and because I am here. I say it because 
people say there is; because of the Bible; because of 
science and history supplementing the Bible; because 
of the wonders his religion is doing on earth now; 
because of the wonder it has done for me; because of 
the instinct of worship in all nations. This is not a 
world of chance, its wonderful adaptation to every 
sense of man shows that. It has a violet time, it has a 
spring; it has a time for the sun to come up, and to go 
down. The violet has its shape, the rose has its per- 
fume. The fish has its scales, and the wheat seed brings 
forth wheat. There are laws and there is certainly 
someone to make them and carry them out — and yet, 
there is never tiresome monotony though there is law. 
The tree grows and branches out, and yet, no two grow 
alike. Each has a grace of its own, there is no stiff 
geometrical rule for it to grow by, even the leaves are 


138 


Ibelen patfeet 


different. Each tiny snow-flake comes down a beau- 
tiful, distinct figure. 

‘You see matter but not the laws that solidify it, 
you see light but not the motion that makes it, you 
see action but not the thought or motive that inspires 
it, you see the earth, the stars, the whole universe, but 
not the God that made it.” 

‘‘Yes, that is so, but it has always seemed strange to 
me,” she replied. 

‘‘The strangest thing to me is this: so many men 
believe that the earth is whirling over and over, and 
round and round, and yet they never stop to prove it 
and probably couldn’t if they tried. They have just 
heard or read about it. They believe the stars are thou- 
sands of miles away and yet it seems impossible. They 
read in their paper of some wonderful invention and 
accept it without question. Some foreigners come with 
wonderful stories of strange people and customs, and 
they will believe it, but yet they will not believe the 
testimony of their respectable, truthful, Christian 
neighbors. When they talk of serving God, they can- 
not believe the Bible, they cannot believe that the 
Holy Spirit is everywhere and yet, like the air, invis- 
ible. I don’t see how they can do it.” 

‘‘I guess I never thought much about it, ’ was the 
hesitating reply. 

‘‘Pardon me. Miss Parker, cried Harry, seeing her 
downcast eyes and reddened face, ‘‘I should not have 
said that — I can see, too, how they can — you have been 
brought up so differently — we will talk of something 
else.” 


Ibelen parhet 


139 


“No, no,” she stammered, “I would rather not.” 
“Well, then, I will have to tell you a story and give 
you a poem, I guess, if that will suit you — all right. 
Well, once upon a time there was a smart young man, 
he had just come out of college and had come out an 
infidel, and so now he was going to lecture. There 
was an old Dutch farmer came up to him and asked, 
‘Are you de young man vot vas going to speak in de 
school house to-night, and vot about was he going to 
speak?’ Well, the young man said he was going to 
speak from the subject, ‘Resolved, that I do not 
believe anything I do not understand.’ 

“Well, the Dutchman says, ‘Aha, that vas it; let me 
give you von little example. You see my pasture over 
there, hey. Veil, now my horse, he eat de grass and it 
comes out hair all over his back; well then, my sheep, 
he eat de grass, an’ if it don’t make wool over him, 
and then, vat you think, my goose eat it, too, an’ if it 
don’t come out fea’ders. You understand dat — hey?’ ” 
The two laughed loud and long over this funny tale 
until Helen almost rolled from the log, and then she 
bethought her of the promised poem: 

“Well, here it is, it is not funny but beautiful.” 

“Beautiful wheel of blue above my head 
Will you be turning still when I am dead, 

Were you still turning long before I came? 

Oh, bitter thought to take with me to bed. 

'Tis a great fuss, all this of Thee and Me, 

Important folk we are — to Thee and Me, 

Yet, what if we mean nothing after all 

And what if heaven cares naught for— Thee and Me. 


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fljelcn pacfter 


All those who, in their graves unheeded lie, 

Were just as pompous once as you and I. 

Complacent spoke their little arrogant names. 

And wagged their heads, and never thought to die. 

A beauty sleeps beneath yon quiet grass 
Who dreamed her face, the world might ne’er surpass, 
Strength is her neighbor but he boasts no more 
And over them the world cries out — Alas ! 

Would you seek beauty, seek it underground. 

Would you find strength, the strong are underground 
And would you next year seek my love and me. 

Who knows but you must seek us underground. 

Oh, weary man, upon a weary earth, 

What is this toil, that men call living, worth 

This dreary agitation of the dust 

And all this strange mistake of mortal birth. 

This sounding world is but a dream that cries 
In Fancie’s ears, and lives in Fancie’s eyes; 

Death la^^s his fingers on the darkening soul 
And all the glowing shadow fades and flies. 

Shall death, that shuts the ears, and locks the brain, 
Teach usVhat eager Life hath sought in vain? 

Yet have I heard, so wild is human guess 

This dullard death shall make Life’s meaning plain. 

When this mysterious self has left behind. 

The subtle painted clay that kept it blind. 

The ransomed essence, wantons in the beam 
That seeks in vain, the dark embodied mind. 

Mysterious mother substance, who are they 

That flout the earth that made them? Who are they 

Who w’aste their wonder on the fabulous soul, 

I can but choose to marvel at the clay. 


Ibelen parfter 


141 


This clay, this dream-sown sod, this chemic earth, 

This wizard dust, where in all shapes of birth — 

Soft flowers, great beasts, and huge pathetic kings. 

Small shapes of wonder, fill a needle’s girth. 

This clay, so strong of heart, of sense so fine — 

Surely such clay is m v than half divine; 

’Tis only fools, speak e\ il of the clay. 

The very stars are made of clay like mine.” 

There was a brief interval of silence, in which Helen 
sat motionless as though receiving the echoes of 
thoughts and impulses as they came rebounding and 
re-echoing from the beautiful creation of words she 
had just heard, and then looking up, she asked in a 
low tone, “Do you believe that our life is our soul, 
Mr. Spencer?” 

“Yes, I think it is. You know how ghastly and hor- 
rible the body seems to us when the soul leaves it, for 
no one ever speaks of the soul dying — and how 
quickly it decays. The body is a wonderful machine 
and it is wonderful how closely it and the power of 
life in it are connected. The eye is called the window 
of the soul. You see some one crying; it is not the 
body or the face, that is sad, it is the soul. You hurt 
yourself, it must be the soul that feels it, for, when the 
soul is gone there is no feeling. All the physical 
senses are conveying incidents and events to the soul, 
while the inner senses, of which I told you, are bring- 
ing impressions from the spiritual and unseen things. 

“Some people think some animals have a soul, and I 
suppose you might call their life a soul, for they are 
capable of learning and of affection — but it is inferior 


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and I think it is not immortal, for, in the creation, the 
Bible speaks of the animals being created as though 
with life already in them. But with man, his body was 
made first and then God blew from his own eternal life 
into his nostrils, so that he became a living soul. I 
think that was the difference. 

“Men divide the soul into three parts, the intellect, 
the affections and the will, and the will seems the 
greatest to me. If a man wants to he can understand 
religion, he can love God, but if he says ‘I won’t’ it is 
the unpardonable sin, and will damn him until he 
changes it into an earnest affirmative.’’ 

Harry had risen and was pacing back and forth 
under the tree, while Helen sat with flushed face, her 
eyes turned to the earth and yet unconscious of its 
presence, for she was drinking in new and thrilling 
revelations, catching new glimpses of purposes and 
possibilities of life — and of the seemingly overwhelm- 
ing flood of ignorance, carelessness and irreverence of 
her own life. 

“Won’t you say, ‘I will,’ Miss Parker? I have been 
interested in you. I want to help some one be a Chris- 
tian. You can understand how Christ died for you, and 
you cannot help but love him for it.’’ 

There were tears in her eyes when she looked up, 
from his earnestly-spoken appeal, and she spoke in a 
voice so low he could scarce hear. “I understand 
better and 1 will try; but I must think; I can’t now.*’ 

“Ask God and he will show you what to do — you 
may be sure since he gave men power to communicate 
with each other, by tongue, books, telephones and 


Ibclen parser 


143 


telegraphs, power to command animals and make them 
understand, and power, you might say, to command 
the laws of nature, that he did not neglect to give him 
power or means to communicate with himself. You 
will find you have a voice that will reach him, and if 
you listen and watch I am sure you will hear or see 
an answer.” 

“Will you answer me just one more question, Mr. 
Spencer?” she asked, after a moment's silence. “It is 
a hard one, or, at least, it is to me, and I’ve wondered 
and thought about it a good deal — that is, lately.” 

“Why, I’ll try to; I don’t know very much about — ” 

“Oh well, you answer them better than anyone else 
I ever heard,” she interrupted eagerly. “It may seem 
strange, but it is this: why were not people put right 
in heaven; why do they have to suffer and dig and 
work here, and why is there so much wickedness?” 

“That is a big question that would take the whole 
world and all the wise men to answer — but I will give 
you my ideas and I’ll have to abbreviate them, too, or 
you wouldn’t get back in time for next Tuesday’s bar- 
gain sale. To begin with, this wood and stream seems 
a very beautiful place to us, but we would soon get 
used to it — novelty is the charm of life. We see each 
face different, meet new thoughts, hear new sounds, 
see a new landscape at every step. We each cultivate 
different tastes, different powers so that when death 
comes it shall find us each distinct and different and 
interesting, while no matter how pure and beautiful if 
we were created without the power of choice and had 
no adversities and trouble and sin to contend with, if 


144 


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we had not the power to develop, and no character — 
for that cannot be created but must come with time — 
we would be weak, uninteresting, flabby, unambitious, 
ignorant, unsympathizing creatures. I have wondered 
sometimes if a man was really created until after he 
passed through this life, it is true his body is made, 
and he is given a soul, but, after all, it is only a blank; 
it is made up and moulded by this world’s experience. 

“This world is very beautiful and if it was not for 
the dishonesty, selfishness and terrible wickedness of 
men, we might call it heaven. I don’t see why we 
couldn’t, and it seems to me heaven itself would have 
been marred by their wickedness just the same, unless 
men were deprived of their powers and crippled. There 
would have been hands raised in rebellion even there, 
against the Ruler. There would have been jealousy 
and wickedness. But here man’s spirit is softened by 
trouble and pain. He is calmed by experience and 
sympathy. He is brought through sin to want righteous- 
ness. He grows weary and wants to rest. Because of 
selfishness he wants love, and because of discord, 
peace. He is brought to a choice, and the choice is 
strengthened generally by years of trial, so that in the 
end there are two classes, those who it will be safe to 
put in heaven and those who it will not; as the Salva- 
tionists said, those who want to go and those who 
don’t. 

“I have thought of this earth as a miniature and 
imperfect heaven, we have a father here to love and 
reverence and obey, so that we may know how to 
love, reverence and obey, in a greater degree our 


fcelen patftet 


M5 

Father in heaven, we come to know what friendship 
and fellowship means, we come to pity and sorrow, so 
that we may practically realize his attitude toward us, 
we suffer that we may comprehend his suffering for 
us. So many of the customs and ties of earth are sym- 
bolical of what we may expect there. The great prin- 
ciples of heaven are taught here as to children. Because 
of earth’s misery and evil we can better appreciate 
heaven, as we do a bright day after a cold, rainy week. 

“Here, no matter how high the thought for a time, 
we must come back to earth’s cares. We are dragged 
down and humiliated by evil and poverty — up yonder 
we may be pained or even sorrowful but we shall be 
uplifted and elevated by beauty and joy and good- 
ness, and our joy made greater by the contrast.’’ 

Helen sat with flushed face, her eyes fixed upon his 
animated face. 

“Did I answer your question in my talk?’’ he asked. 

“Oh, yes — I see — I think you have converted my 
intellect, I don’t know — 1 think my affections or will 
— or something,’’ she stammered, “what will the girls 
think?’’ 

“No matter what, you have as good a right to laugh 
at them for being evil, or going to a dance, as they 
have at your trying to be good and going to church — 
What does Christ think? 

“You will think about it — you will come to our meet- 
ings?’’ 

“Yes,’’ was the low-spoken reply, and Helen arose 
and took his arm. “We must start back now; is not 
everything beautiful?’’ 


CHAPTER XV 

Rigorous clouds had overshadowed Harry Spencer’s 
life since the evening he had secured permission to 
stay by the bedside, as it proved, of his dying mother. 
True, she had lingered for some time, but hard work 
and exposure had undermined her constitution, and a 
deadly consumptive cough had fastened its clutches 
upon her, so that she became weaker and weaker, and 
at last quietly passed away. 

True it was that he had had kind church friends to 
sympathize with him. True it was that his sadness was 
overtopped by the hope of that bright day coming. 
True it was that he had his little room still left, with 
Mrs. Brown as calm and cheerful as ever. But oh, it 
was sadly lacking! There was the whole earth left, but 
what a great void there seemed around him, always, 
since she whom he had cherished had departed. 

Then, immediately came sad news from his kind old 
employer, ostracised by some of his best customers 
because of his activity against liquor, weakened by 
depression in business and a fierce competition, 
crippled by a too-liberal philanthropy, the white- 
haired old man at last must give up the struggle and 
surrender almost his all in wordly goods. Yet trium- 
phantly he retains those grand principles of right and 
truth, that are to him the essence of existence. 

So it was with great pity that Harry saw that other 
146 


'toeien jparhet 


good friend of his in trouble and humiliation, and 
there came almost a feeling of rebellion. It seemed to 
him that wickedness was everywhere triumphing, and 
the world looked very black. He was, of course, out of 
employment, the sickness and funeral expenses had 
used up the small sum of money he had saved, he was 
worn out from watching, and almost sick. 

We who have a tormenting ailment look with envy 
upon the tall strong man, or the fresh, rosy-cheeked 
girl, as they pass by, little dreaming that they may 
have muscles that twitch with pain, and aches that are 
excruciating. So each of us sometimes look upon some 
seemingly calm even life, and say, “Oh, if I had 
everything so nice, and so little to tempt me, as they 
have, I could be good,” unthinking that within that 
pleasant exterior, wild tempests have raged, that 
demons have fought therein and have been conquered, 
that some besetting sin has assailed again and again, 
or that evil is hanging wily and changeful, ever ready 
to enter in and demolish. 

Harry was a strong, temperate, religious, young 
man, but he had no special immunity from temptation. 
Indeed, temptations often seem to strike hardest those 
who abstain most from yielding to them; and that feel- 
ing of rebellion and questioning that came to him at 
the news of his employer’s trouble, had seemed to 
open up the way for a flood of evil to enter and almost 
submerge him, so that the next day was passed in a 
blackness and turmoil of mind, such as he had never 
felt before. 

He had gone wandering over the city, that afternoon 


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applying unsuccessfully at several places where help 
was wanted — but disappointment brings so great an 
irritation of mind, and abhorrence, that he cares not 
whether he gets a place or whether he starves. He 
asks no more, but roams aimlessly about the streets 
until exhausted. 

Then night and darkness came, but it brought no 
sleep or rest, and he walked the floor of his little room 
in agony, his mind so troubled that it seemed to him 
it must surely give way. So he wrestled with evil, it 
seemed, as real and as strong as himself, until sleep 
somehow made him unconscious; and the next morn- 
ing he found himself lying upon the bed, stiff and 
sore and with throbbing temples. 

But this day promised to be a repetition of the last, 
and, in his despair, he took a train to flee from the 
city, he did not care where. Chance led him to the 
banks of a small creek and into the wild timber and 
brushwood that hid and shaded it. There the 
beauty and peace and quiet calmed him, the discord and 
pain gradually subsided, and the sparkling water and 
the rustling wind brought peace and better thoughts so 
that he became strengthened and reconciled to 
whatever should befall him — not in his own strength — 
no, but by and through the strength of Him, against 
whom he had been so sorely tempted to turn. 

And then, as a further rebuke to his discouragement, 
as he returned, Mr. Greene was waiting for him, not 
angry nor indignant, but with cheering words, which 
were suitable and gratifying to his present condi- 
tion. Words, not of commiseration or regret for the 


tbelen parfeet 


149 


past, that had taken care of itself, but words of bright- 
ness and hope for the future. And when, after this, came 
the information in a quiet, unassuming tone that he 
had a position waiting for him in a large department 
store near by, he was too greatly overcome to thank 
his benefactor by words. 

Small wonder then that upon that night as he 
dropped off to sleep it was upon a pillow wet with 
tears of gratitude; and then, the morrow being Satur- 
day and he not going to work till Monday, that he 
should return to that quiet little stream in the country 
and there pass the day in quiet meditation and read- 
ing; or that the Sunday should be a golden day ever 
memorable for the fullness of blessings that came to 
him as he attended the church services and mingled 
with his sympathetic friends there, and felt the fire of 
faith and enthusiasm about him. 

For the church was on the eve of a revival, many 
hearts were full and overflowing, and the overflow was 
already going out to that world which only gets the 
overflow and surplus from men’s hearts. Not till a 
man is full can he show salvation to others, and not 
till he has himself tasted and proven good, does the 
hunger of others appeal to him. As the frothing pot 
boils over, even so had fervent hearts, from the in- 
creased fire at the altar, and already the miracle of 
conversion had been wrought. 

The old pastor. Rev. James, had tried to impress 
upon the minds and hearts of his people the need of 
the effort they were about to make, for eternity, and 
to inspire them by thoughts of what it was possible 


ISO t)elen parftet 

for them to accomplish. Now they had secured a 
young evangelist of exceptional power and piety, a 
man of personal magnetism and earnestness of pur- 
pose, eloquent, and of deep perceptions. His appear- 
ance, his peculiarities, his dress, and his language were 
all superseded and soon forgotten, because of the 
pungent truth as it came from his lips. 

And so, sitting under his words that Sunday night, 
there had come to Harry a deeper realization than 
ever before that he was saved for service; and, with 
the answering of those recent questionings — why he 
should live when his mother had gone — there came 
into his heart a strong resolution to make an indi- 
vidual effort to awaken and point to salvation those 
with whom he came in contact. 

But how often a soul inspired thus — anxious as the 
battle steed to rush into battle at the word of command 
— is quenched and disheartened as it beholds before it 
the great semi-circle of adversaries, some boldly defy- 
ing, some in careless nonchalance, some in haughty 
disdain, and some with scorning taunts and jibes. 
So Harry had come into a very uncongenial place, 
with his determination, as he soon found, when he 
went into the store. Many of the clerks were frivolous 
and unthoughtful, some were indifferent and some 
were scornful, and some appeared to keep a barrier of 
frigidity between themselves and him so that there 
could be no bond of confidence or friendship between 
them. 

He had distributed invitations to the meetings, 
among them, but his face had been flushed with indig- 


tbeUn ^arfter 


151 

nation again and again, at some of their coarse jokes 
and laughter, at his expense. None had seemed 
specially interested, though several girls had said they 
would come only they couldn’t afford the street-car 
fare, and were too tired to walk that far, while one had 
said she guessed she could come if it was free. So a 
week had passed and, needless to say, he was greatly 
depressed. They were all so busy, there seemed to be 
no time or opportunity to talk with them. The 
main thought of most of them seemed to be, to earn 
that small weekly wage that stood between them and 
suffering and, if possible, to have a good time when 
unengaged by that. 

On Saturday night he had been among the crowd, 
listening to the Salvation Army band. He was person- 
ally acquainted with several of them, and was in full 
sympathy with their work, which so nearly cor- 
responded with that which he wished to do, so that his 
joy at their success was almost as great as their own. 
Then, glancing around at the motley crowd, he had 
caught sight of a young woman’s face, with an expres- 
sion of interest and longing. How he longed to help 
her to reach a right decision, but it seemed as though 
he could not. He did not know her, so it would be out 
of place, but oh, if Miss Ames, whose face he was so 
intently watching, would only step out and take her 
by the hand, with her gentle appeal, he knew she 
would surrender. 

But for once Miss Ames seemed strangely unseeing. 
No one had seemed to notice her, and then, when the 
band went marching away, he watched her anxiously 


152 


t)elen patftet 


yet, to see if she might not follow them, but she had 
turned. He went home sad and condemned because 
of the opportunity that had come and gone unprofited. 

Then came the transfer to the lower floor, and, it 
seemed to him, the happening of providence that this 
same girl should be one of his adjacent fellow clerks. 
Yet as time went on that fact seemed less fortunate 
than at first and he began to despair of any result 
because of it. 

The clerks on this floor seemed, if anything, worse 
than those above, the girls nearly all appeared to flirt 
with the men, and the blush of shame sometimes 
came to his cheeks, from the questionable jokes made 
by one sex to the other. Their talk was often coarse, 
their movements were almost unrestrained, their humor 
seemed of a low and vulgar character and they seemed 
deadened to delicacy and the finer sensibilities of even 
common respectable people. Was not this young 
woman as bad as any of them, though she seemed 
more cultured and better educated than most of them? 
Were not her jests tinged with their obscenity? Did she 
not laugh at their worst jests? Was she not a favorite 
among them because of her lively fancy and real 
appreciation of humor? 

But there was something worse than this. There 
were two young men on this floor, Henry Jones and 
John Oleson by name, who, with their outward suave 
and somewhat polished manners, had the instincts and 
passions of the villianous rake. They treated immo- 
rality as a joke, and it was a frequent theme of their 
thoughts and conversation. 


1 


tbelen parftet 


153 


Harry would sometimes overhear their talk, which, 
foul and corrupt, seemed to him, brought up as he had 
been, should almost blast the lips from which it came. 
Their ambitions and plans showed the black de- 
pravity of their inner natures, and yet, on the ap- 
proach of any of the girls, they threw on very easily 
that cloak of dudish sang froid. Perhaps they would 
go off together, he with his little airs of careless gai- 
ety and his everlasting nothings, of which he seemed 
to have an endless supply, and she laughing and so 
blindly pleased that it made Harry sick at heart, see- 
ing their souls so greatly outraged and imperiled. 

And he had seen this girl do this. It is true she did 
not become so familiar with them as some of the girls. 
She seemed to possess more of that good breeding that 
demands formality. Yet both of the young scoundrels, 
he knew, were trying, with all the skill and cool calcu- 
lation of their evil natures, to break down this feeling 
of restraint, so that he was strongly tempted, and even 
sat debating with himself, whether he should not 
choke the breath from their miserable throats. 

But, at such times there would come questionings 
whether she were really worthy such an attempt, and 
such a sacrifice, for, at the least, it would probably cost 
him his position. Some of the girls in the store were 
certainly of doubtful character, yet there was an unde- 
finable something about her that forbade his placing 
her in the same class. Then too she had that one 
redeeming incident in her favor: she had shown long- 
ing and concern upon her face because of the words of 
the Salvationists. She had listened to them with inter- 


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est and sympathy, instead of passing with a sneer and 
a giggle. She had, if had read her face aright, for once 
had some appreciation of something higher than her 
ordinary life. It might have been only a transient 
fancy and yet it must certainly be possible to awaken 
that feeling of solicitude again, since she realized that 
she had something within her that was worthy of 
care and anxiety — for, to Harry, it really seemed that 
some of the girls did not know they had a soul. 

So with that feeling he determined to do the best 
he could. He would live a religious life anyway, that 
she might see there was something in religion. He 
would rebuke evil by his manner, if not by v/ords, or by 
more forcible means, and he would try to speak with 
her about religion. There was a spark of good in her 
somewhere and he must reach it and bring it out. 

Sometimes he felt cheered for she would, for a time, 
seem thoughtful, and would seem to regard him kindly 
if not with interest. Again he would be greatly 
depressed, as she seemed to unfeelingly join in the 
ridicule and jests directed against himself and the 
cause he was trying to uphold, or as she would seem to 
come out as a ring-leader in their unrestrained gaiety. 

And yet he felt there was hope for her. He was 
cheered and revived by the zeal and success of the 
meetings, which he attended each night. He had seen 
worse people saved. The joy of salvation was for the 
reminded careless and the careless wicked awakened. 

And then on that Saturday night a chance had 
seemed to come to him, and he had sought to incline 
the conversation toward religion, and yet avoid that 


f>elen pathet 


155 


great danger of making it obtrusive and obnoxious. 
He had been pleased to find her a ready listener, and 
so emboldened, had asked for her company on the 
morrow. He would take her to that beautiful wild-wood 
spot that had been instrumental in comforting him. 
Surely, its charms would chase away her bodily dis- 
content and misery, even if it did not serve to bring 
the cheering, enlightening and uplifting joy of the 
gospel. 

So they had gone, and it seemed to him that never 
since his mother had died, had he been so reconciled 
and pleased with life as he had that afternoon. Best of 
all, was his good hope, that the soul of this beautiful 
girl would be saved from the awful condemnation. 
Had she not been moved to shed tears. Had she not 
inquired anxiously of Godly things? Had she not 
promised to think — nay, more to try to be saved; and 
oh, joy — trying for that, was never in vain. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Having a good deal of leisure time on his hands 
since the closing out of his business Mr. Greene volun- 
teered most of it for the benefit of the meetings. He 
stood ever ready to aid the pastors in their work, to go 
here or there, to talk up and talk for the meetings, to 
reason with some one and advise another, to distribute 
notices or to give his testimony. 

One afternoon he had started out to distribute some 
of the invitations, down a street not particularly 
inviting to the eye, but possessing, in its poverty- 
stricken inhabitants, a peculiar charm to this old 
philanthropist. So absorbed was he in his occupa- 
tion that he had not noticed how far from home he 
was, when he came to a dingy, dark-looking little 
lunch room with a billiard table and sundry other 
gambling devices, discernible through the dirt-covered 
window. 

Most respectable persons would have skipped this 
villainous looking place altogether, or, at most, have 
only opened the door sufficiently to admit the circulars 
but Mr. Greene was no shirker, he believed that salva- 
tion was for all and that these men needed it 

There were six or eight of them inside, one an 
ungainly Irishman, with an enormous mouth and one 
eye turned so that it seemed to be always glaring at 
his nose, lay stretched upon a rude bench, while the 
156 


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157 


others sat in different positions and attitudes about 
the room. 

Some were reading, some gazing at the floor and 
some talking, but all looked up in surprise as the door 
opened and the white-haired, kindly-faced old man 
entered. He greeted them each one, and, giving each 
one of his papers, was about to withdraw, when one of 
the number, a tall, dissipated-looking individual, who, 
judging from the dirty apron which he wore, and the 
absence of a covering for his grizzled head, belonged 
to the establishment — crumpled his up in his hand and 
threw it upon the floor, shaking his head. 

“Ha, ha. Bill don’t think much of that,” laughed 
one of the men, spitting viciously at a spittoon. 

“My friend, you don’t realize what you are throw- 
ing away,” said Mr. Greene earnestly, going up to the 
man and taking him by the arm. “That is an invita- 
tion, a free chance to secure salvation, to secure the 
riches of heaven, and, better yet, to secure God’s help 
and help from good people to live differently here.” 

“You don’t know me?” he asked in a low tone with- 
out looking up. 

“No, but I feel you need a friend; you are not a 
Christian.” 

“Huh,” was the only answer. 

“You do not attend any church.” 

“No; haven’t been in a church for ten years, and 
don’t know as I ever shall; they’re nothin’ to me,” he 
added, with something of irritation. 

“I’m sorry for that; you have missed wonderful 
pleasures and inspiration for good — a man is bound to 


158 


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go down without something to hold him up — you are 
not enjoying this life, and have no prospect for a 
better future life.” 

“No.” 

“You can, and you should, the Bible says: ‘The 
Lord is nigh unto all them that call upon him in 
truth. The way of the wicked is an abomination unto 
the Lord, but he loveth him that followeth after 
righteousness,' and, in another place, ‘The Lord pre- 
serveth all them that love him, but all the wicked will 
he destroy.’ It says all, it means you, just as much as 
anybody.” 

“Huh, very little he cares about me; let alone your 
nne churches — see here, do you s’ pose if there is a God 
he can watch everybody an’ care any for ’em. Seems 
to me he’d have enough to do to watch his churches.” 

“You know, perhaps, how a father and mother love 
their first child; how kind and attentive and watchful 
they are of it; how they lavish their wealth, their 
time, and care, on it; but, as another child comes to 
them, their love seems to expand so as to take it in, 
and then, as the family increases, there may be five, 
eight, or ten children, all claiming the mother’s time, 
attention and love. Some of them may seem rebel- 
lious and irreverent, and go down into sin and crime, 
but did you ever see a mother turn away from her boy 
for that? 

“I remember in our family there were six boys and 
two girls. We all grew up pretty steady — and mis- 
chievous — except one boy, his name was William, sir, 
and he seemed always irritable and sulky and reckless; 


Ibelen Parker 


159 


he never seemed to care what he said. But how patient 
mother always was with him; how she seemed to love 
him more than any of us, though she did not show 
partiality! Well, that boy came to the gallows,*' he 
continued, his voice tremulous with feeling. "He 
killed a man and was hanged for it, and nearly broke 
my mother’s heart, just as it would have, if it had been 
me that was going. 

"Of course, this is a poor comparison, and yet, if 
weak men and women are capable of this, can you not 
see how an infinite Creator can watch over and care 
for all his children — for he owns us all. 

"Ownership and possession are two different things. 
We may own something, far away, or in use by some 
one else, but we only possess that that is near at hand 
and that it is possible for us to use, so, as long as there 
is life, God who gave us the life has the claim of 
ownership. Some of us are a great disgrace to him, 
some of us try to escape from him as far as possible, 
but as far as we go he must still own us. 

"Oh, it was hard for my mother to own her son; 
I remember how, as they caught him and brought him 
back, under an assumed name and swearing he did not 
know the place; how she went up to him, looked into 
his surly face, put her hand upon his shoulder and 
claimed him as her son, William Greene, though he 
cursed her for it. Yes, it was hard [there were tears in 
the old man’s eyes], but she must do it, and so my 
friend, God must still claim you as his own, though 
you may be far from him, and, believe me, he cares 
for you, even as you curse him. 


i6o 


Ibelen ipatf?et 


“You have heard little of him, except in the way of 
oaths. You are prejudiced against the church because, 
for ten years you have been associated with so much 
that is opposed to it, but, believe me, you may yet 
become a happy man, freed of sin, cleansed and filled 
with the hope of eternal heaven. Now, won’t you 
come up to our meeting, I will be there. Come and 
see me, will you?” 

The answer was low but distinct: “Yes.” 

“God bless you,” and Mr. Greene shook his hand 
warmly, “and won’t some of the rest of you come?” 
turning around to the rest of the group. The Irish- 
man broke into a coarse, rough laugh, and all the rest 
except one shook their heads. The exception, a heavy- 
set, red-faced man, who had been wiping his eyes, and 
trying to clear his voice for the last few minutes, 
replied that he might. 

“I hope you will; remember, I shall be glad to see 
any of you there,” and, with these words, he departed. 

There was a short silence, for even to these rough 
men there seemed an air of sacredness and reverence 
lingering from the presence and earnestly-spoken 
words of the white-haired old saint, but such feelings 
were most foreign to Mike, the Irishman and an oath 
broke the stillness: 

“ Bill, it s’prised me you’d let ’im 

take you in so ’asy.” 

Bill sat motionless, looking at the floor, and did not 
seem to hear him. 

“He didn’t know me,” he muttered presently, as 
though unconsciously. 


t)eten l^athet 


i6i 


“Ha, ha, did you know him? See here. Bill, he 
most put you to sleep.” 

“Yes, I knew him," he replied seeming to arouse 
himself, “leastways I used to, an’ he looks just like he 
did, only older — and better. I’m glad he didn’t know 
me,’’ and a shadow of pain seemed to pass over his 
face. 

“ ’Cause why?" 

“ ’Cause why? Look at me, he used to know me 
when I were better off." 

“D it. Bill; you’re too proud." 

“Proud," he cried, angrily, “proud of having gone 
so to the devil, when I might a’bin somebody, if I wuz 
like him now I might be proud." 

“Oh, well, you’re goin’ to his meetin’; I don't 
believe in his old church, an’ all that nohow." 

“What o’ that; I’d ruther believe just opposite to 
what the likes of you does anyhow." 

“Bill’s kind of stubborn to-day," put in one of the 
men. 

“The like’s o’ me; huh, you’r no better," replied he 
of the enormous mouth, rising to a sitting posture, 
“mebby you’re goin’ to get good now, go to church an’ 
wear a white shirt — kind o’ copy atter that fellar that 
wer’ just in." 

“A thousand times better be like him than you," was 
the fierce reply, but in a quieter tone he continued: 
“No, I ain’t goin’ to get good, either; I never cared 
none for religion, but I b’lieve there is such a thing, 
an* ten times smarter men do, too; but it can’t help 
me; Tm too far gone; I must have my drink; I got to 


162 


Ibelen i^arftet 


play; I swear an’ I fight when I get riled, an’ cuts up 
all kinds of deviltry, an’ it don’t do any good to 
swear off, neither; I’ve tried it too often.” 

“It’s like Bill says,’* spoke up one of the others, 
“this thing o’ religion is all right fer de wimmen an’ 
children. If dey starts out when dey are young, an’ 
keeps right at it, they got some show, but it don’t 
seem’s if many wer’ doin’ it these days.” 

“Lor’, you’d think so if you saw ’em cornin’ out of 
some of these churches Sunday mornin’s — trouble ’ith 
you, you’re alius boozin’ up an’ don’t know anything 
about it.” 

“Huh, — stiff-necked, dressed-up hypo- 

crites, religun may be a good name fer goin’ to 
church, an’ church a good name fer where they go, 

but , it, there’s nothin’ in it,” and Mike glanced 

triumphantly around upon the company, several of 
whom applauded him for his undisputable and elo- 
quent logic. “Don’t you think so. Jack Tarr,” 
addressing the heavy-set, red-faced man who had 
remained silent. 

“Some of ’em, not all — see here, you big hulkin’ 
Irishman, it’s easy ’nough ter say hypercrites, it’s easy 
’nough ter pick flaws, an’ fin’ fault with these ’ere rich 
people an’ dressed-up people ’at ain’t rich; why ain’t 
you dressed up; ’cause you don’t want to be, you’d 
rather gamble yer money an’ spend it fer drink; why 
ain’t yer rich; cause you’re too lazy an’ shiftless an’ 
don’t care; an’ ain’t ambition ’nough only to wish you 
were.” 

“Yet you expect them to live just so; you cuss ’em 


f)elen parftet 


163 


'cause they have good clothes, an’ are respectable an’ 
hold their heads up, stead o* cornin’ down an’ bein’ a 
dog like you an’ me — you call ’em misers an’ hyper- 
crites an’ expect ’em to live like angels ’cause they 
got religion, an yet yer don’t believe in religion.” 

‘‘Lor’, what a talker when you get him started,” 
broke in one of the men, but he continued: 

“I think they do — well, ’specially compared to 
yourself, an’ I believe they’re gettin’ to be better 
every year; they’re doin’ more to help people, an’ all 
that; 'tain t their money helps ’em to be good; I say 
the more coin a fellow has, the bigger chance to 
ornery; give you a hundred dollars like some o’ these 
gents has in there pockets any time, an’ you’d be in 
some den carousin’ in four minutes; 'tain’t ’cause 
they're made different, they’ve got the same hanker- 
ing to do de wrong as you had; I know, ’cause I wer’ 
raised in respectable society ’till I was twenty; I’ve 
seen girls come down an' down ’till they land in one 
o’ those tuff hells, an’ I’ve seen other girls that seemed 
like angels in comparison, just ’cause they stuck by 
religun. 

"I know boys ’at used to go *ith me that are 
good an’ happy an’ here I am down here; course 
there’s some keeps respectable that ain’t religious, but 
they behaves just because people 'ud be down on ’em 
if they didn’t, an’ because religun ha’ made it unre- 
spectable to — ” 

‘‘See here now. Jack Tarr,” broke in the Irishman, 
“sounds all right to hear yez talk, but now there’s 
Cap Lonney, an’ old John Adams an’ that onery fat 


Ibelen iparhet 


164 


Sam Black, an' Jay Goodin’, they go to church, on 

Sundays an’ cut a big dash, that 

Black, he makes me tired; I see him only last Sunday 
swelled up ’till he wouldn’t speak t’ez common 
paple.” 

“Well, what o’ that; guess you’ll find rascals any- 
where; I don’t say but what there’s a good many in 

the churches, but there’s a — sight more that ain’t. 

I say that some o’ these churches here ain’t any reli- 

gun at all; they’re all rascals, an’ the preacher 

gets up an’ blows any things so’z it sounds nice, an’ 
the people smile and show off their nice clo’es and bow 

and smile. ’I say they’re hypercrites, an’ 

wouldn’t stand up fer ’em no more than you, but 
understand they ain’t got religun; a church that has is 
all right I say, an’ I don’t b’lieve in bein’ down on a 
fellar just ’cause he’s rich er goes to church. 

“ ’Course, in de city there’s so many rascals, 

an’ so much booze, an’ wimmen, an’ stealin’s, an’ all, 
an’ then its like the old gen’leman said,’’ and here a 
smile overspread Jack Tarr’s face, “yer not bein’ 
associated wid de gents an’ ladies of ’spectability, but 
bein’ company wid yerself an’ other toughs ye come 
to think they’s all like yerself.’’ 

At this Mike burst into a volley of oaths and then 
an unmirthful laugh. 

“Ha, ha, ha. Jack’s gettin’ religus. But that wuz a 

good joke on him when Pete Carr joined the 

Salvation Army; yez fellars ever hear about it?’’ 

“No, what was it?’’ came from two or three while 
one of them gave Jack a knowing wink. 


Ibclcn partner 


165 

“Well, ye see it wuz three or four years ago; Pete 
an’ Jack wuz chums an’ somehow they got to goin’ to 
thez’ meetin’s an’ wuz a good deal stirred up, an’ one 
night they agreed, him an’ Jack, that they’d go up, 
the very next night. 

“Well, so the next night Pete does go up, an’ jines 
’em all just as he said, but what does Jack there do 
but pull off an’ stays back, an’ they says as how fer a 
month all those purty girls an’ Pete, an’ de Kernal 
hisself wuz after him 'till Jack had ter bounce his job 
an’ leave de country till things cooled down,’’ and the 
Irishman laughed at the recollection till he rolled off 
the bench and even Jack Tarr had to join in with the 
rest. 

For a moment Mike’s sympathizers seemed para- 
mount, and ridicule and oaths seemed to have come 
off victorious, but a little, white-faced man in the cor- 
ner lifted his voice in remonstrance. “Yer can’t say 
nothin’ agin the Salvation Army, an’ Pete Carr’s all 
right, too.’’ 

“Yes an’ he is,’’ affirmed Jack, his face sobering; 
he’s straight an’ all right, an’ I wish sometimes I’d 
jined ’em too, if I’d stick to it like he has, but I 
thought it were no use, an’ have got out of the notion 
now.’’ 

“Yer right there. Jack,’’ continued the little man, 
“they’ve got religun an’ the right kind; they’re doin’ 
stacks of good. I know they come to my house while 
the woman were so sick an’ tended her, an’ cleaned up 
de house, an’ de childern, an’ talked an’ read to ’em. 
My woman thinks a sight of ’em, an’ goes to their 


t)elen parftet 


i66 


meetin’s, sometimes, and I stick up for ’em that 
they’re all right.” 

"Well, I’ll be d if this ain't gettin’ ter be a 

reg’lar camp meetin’ crowd. Mebbe yer won’t conde- 
scend to play a game of high five, or a religious little 
game of seven-up ’ith a gen’leman,” commented 
Mike, “but I hopes yez ain’t principled ’gainst playin’ 
a game of checkers to pass de time.” 

“D — it, no; let’s have a game, an’ if Bill wants 

to go to meetin’, he can, fer all I care, an’ Jack Tarr 
too. 

“Shuffle ’em up there. Brick, an’ bring me out a 
drink you Bill; I’m cursed dry.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


Anxiously, on the Monday night following their 
excursion, did Harry watch, from his seat upon the 
platform (for he was one of the large chorus choir), for 
Helen, and true to her word, she came, though a little 
late. 

As usual, the tongue of the evangelist gave out its 
burden of inspired, earnest thought. Then the brief 
but powerful exhortation, and the house was filled with 
the rhythm of one of those old invitation hymns, that 
seems to so greatly touch and enrapture and thrill 
through the blood. 

The workers slipped noiselessly about the room, 
speaking to the undecided and hesitating. One of 
them, Mrs. Baker, a saintly little woman, went to 
speak to some one near Helen, but Harry could not 
tell whether it was with her or not. She only remained 
a brief moment, however, and passed on. 

Then came a few closing words, an inquiry and 
encouragement to those few who had responded to 
their efforts, and the benediction was spoken. 

Harry pressed his way down the aisle and greeted 
Helen, but he did not in any way allude to her non- 
acceptance of the invitation, for he felt the danger of 
haste and of pressing the cause too hard. He turned 
his attention to introducing her to his friends, and he 
was charmed by the air of grace and dignity with 

167 


i68 


Ibe len B>arfter 


which she greeted them, and pleased by the flush of 
pleasure that kindled aglow in her cheeks, and bright- 
ened her eyes, no less than by the beauty of her 
features, w'hich he knew would cause some commotion 
and wonder amongst the girls of his acquaintance. 

She had come alone and he claimed it as his duty to 
see her safely back to her room. Most of the distance 
was passed in a crowded car, and in silence, but in the 
short remaining walk, she evinced an interest in and 
asked many questions about those she had met. 

Then, as they parted, not asking her to come again, 
but speaking as though it were impossible that she 
should not, he told her that he would be glad to see 
her home every night and that if it were necessary, 
which she said it wasn’t, he would come around for 
her to go. 

> So, night after night passed, she came and listened, 
seemingly wdth interest. She extended and increased 
her friendship, but all spiritual appeals seemed alike 
unable to move her. Once he had ventured a word of 
entreaty, and a reminder of her promise, but she had 
not answered it and had presently spoken of some- 
thing else. He had had Mr. Greene go to her, but even 
he had been unsuccessful. She had listened attentively 
to his words, had agreed that they were right, but had 
made no sign of profiting from them. 

Sadly Harry bethought him of what she had said, 
so hesitatingly, of her affections, and then of that 
verse that says, “The devils also believe and trem- 
ble.” Her heart must be sorely hardened; there must 
something come to touch it — ah, poor fellow — he had 


Ibelen parftet 


169 


thought that his little talk should transform her life, 
and God’s power had not touched her yet. Oh, how 
he prayed that it should! There seemed wonderful evi- 
dences of it in the meetings. There seemed to be much 
of the quickening, warming presence of the Holy 
Spirit. Was she impervious to it? Was her intellect 
only caught by the charm of unwonted thoughts and 
eloquent words? 

In her everyday work at the store she seemed about 
as usual. She had had a spell of thoughtfulness and 
quietness after that Sunday of their talk, of unusal 
length. She had even snubbed and forsaken the com- 
pany of “Johnny and Henney,” as they were called in 
the store; had refused their “invites” to the shows 
and a dance, and had seemed to care more to talk with 
Harry until they had accused her of being “stuck on 
him,” or of “gettin’ religious.” 

She had denied all their insinuations, sometimes 
with scorn, sometimes in pretended carelessness, but 
they had a visible effect upon her, and presently her 
old manner and spirit of worldliness came back to her 
and she seemed from the reaction to become more 
reckless and uncaring than ever. 

Then came a night in which she was not at the 
meeting. He had looked at everyone, he had searched 
inside and out, at its close, and she was not there. He 
had been looking for and fearing this. If her interest 
and attendance should only continue unflagging and 
unabated, some burning words must surely come to 
inspire and fire her nature. Her interest increasing, 
must, in time, affect her sympathies and her will, but 


I/O 


Ibelen iParFter 


once the chain was broken, how hard to reunite it 
again! And then, too, the habit, lately acquired, of 
assisting this tall, graceful girl, upon the always- 
crowded street car, and of feeling her light touch upon 
his arm, and her elastic step by his side, during the 
few remaining blocks, was broken, and not till now 
that it was broken, had he prized the habit. 

So, in his wondering disappointment and preoccu- 
pation of mind, the car had carried him past his 
destination before he noticed it, and he had to trudge 
wearily back. 

Then, the next day a stranger had taken Helen’s 
place at the store. A large, well-formed girl, who 
seemed beautiful at a distance, but who, as you came 
closer, almost repelled you by the coarseness of her 
features and of the nature within illuminating them, 
and from the contrast with its usual occupant Harry 
became painfully conscious of his acquired habit of 
frequently glancing in that direction. 

In vain he strove against it, in vain he strove to 
satisfy himself that her absence was caused by some 
slight illness, perhaps, or because of some momentary 
trifling cause. He hated to ask anyone about it for 
fear they would tease him, but at last he ventured to 
ask little May Kiser. 

“Oh, haven’t you heard of it? It was so sad.’’ 

“Of what, no. What is it?’’ he cried, a sudden fear 
almost overpowering him. 

“There was a terrible accident — what road is that, 
Jess, that crosses — the street?’’ 

“The C, F. & N. Y., I guess.’’ 


Ibelen patftet 


171 

“Oh, yes; that was it. It ran over a street car and 
tore it all to pieces they say, and killed a man, and 
hurt a woman and a boy.” 

“And Helen?” cried Harry. 

“They took her to the hospital somewhere. What 
was the — where did they say she was hurt?” 

“A cut in the forehead, several ribs broken, and, if 
she recovers, will be a cripple for life, I think is what 
it said,” replied Jess with unsteady voice and her 
handkerchief pressed to her eyes. 

“It was perfectly awful — horrible — I think Jack has 
the paper over there. Ask him if he has the Record.” 

“It was with a husky, unnatural voice that he asked 
for the paper, and, receiving it, went to his depart- 
ment, away from everybody, to read it. 

Yes, there was the picture and headline, “A Street- 
Car Disaster,” but his eyes were swimming so he could 
not distinguish the smaller type. 

A thousand things had come flashing into his mind. 
He recalled her as he had seen her only the day before. 
He thought of some words she had said. He thought of 
her condition, yet unsaved, and of some words of 
warning to those in that condition. He had heard the 
night before, he thought, of her taking the car. She 
might have been coming to the church — no, that was a 
different street. She might have been going some- 
where with Henry Jones or John Oleson, but if so, 
they had escaped, for they were both in their accus- 
tomed places and talking away as usual — then, crash, 
and she was suffering, groaning, or, perhaps, uncon- 
scious, if she did recover — 


172 


Ibelen fParfeet 


Clearing his eyes, he looked down the columns, the 
dead, the injured, the loss and the blame. He did not 
see her name. Maybe she was unknown, but there was 
none who could possibly be her, from the descrip- 
tions. There must be another paper. 

Mechanically he arose and took the paper to the girls. 

“Where did you read that about her?” he asked. 

“Why, that’s the paper, I guess; yes, here it is.” 

“Why, that says Cora Bonbright.” 

“Well, that’s who I was talking about,” and the 
girls burst out in unrestrained laughter. 

“White as a sheet, wasn’t he Jess; looks like he had 
had a sick spell.” 

A great revulsion of feeling came over Harry. He 
stood blinking and biting his lips, his white face became 
scarlet. He could hardly realize that it was a joke — it 
must be so. 

“Where is Helen — Miss Parker?” he stammered. 

“She has a headache; was not well enough to come 
down; nothing serious” replied May suddenly ceasing 
her laughter for his deep feeling had impressed her; 
She saw it was by no means a funny joke for him. 

He said nothing more but turned away hearing, as he 
did so, Jess say to May, “Why, I had no idea he cared 
so much for her; wasn’t he scared — I wonder if it 
didn’t make him mad?” 

Returning the paper with a quiet “thanks” Harry 
returned to his department to ponder upon the great 
difference between Helen Parker and Cora Bonbright, 
to accuse himself to some extent of selfishness, and yet 
to rejoice that it was as it was. 


Ibelen patfeet 


173 


That day spemed to be one especially full of trial 
and vexations, and evening found him weary and 
depressed so that, instead of anticipation of the even- 
ing’s service, there was a strong temptation to lie down 
and rest and perhaps finish the book he was reading. 

But somehow he wa.: restless and his book seemed 
strangely uninteresting. He kept thinking of his unoc- 
cupied chair in the choir, and his imagination called 
up the scene as he had seen it night after night — the 
familiar church walls, the energetic young evangelist 
beside the pulpit, with his Bible open in one hand, the 
other used to emphasize his earnest talk, the older 
minister sitting quietly in his chair, the rows of 
upturned faces, one among them especially interest- 
ing him and on which he noted every expression. 

It changed, it seemed interested, it changed, to a 
smile, it became grave, it relaxed into unconcern or 
indifference, but the expression he so longed to see 
did not come. At last he groaned in despair, the face 
vanished and he awoke to find himself in his own little 
room lying upon the sofa. 

Getting up, he wiped the perspiration from his face, 
and looked at his small clock. It was already time for 
the service to begin, but he would go. He hastily 
made his toilet, and hurried to catch a car. 

He was late, the choir was full, likewise the church, 
so that it was with difficulty he secured a seat in the 
back part of the room. Rev. Brown was just reading 
the lesson and in a moment more the evangelist began 
a strange but startling and very forcible appeal for 
Christianity. 


174 


Ibelen pacl^ec 


How glad Harry was that he had come, for, though 
he had seen several revivals, he had never seen so 
great an effect produced by words, nor such a wonder- 
ful conquest by truth and the Spirit. 

Never before had he known the power of the Gos- 
pel to be so felt. Never had he seen the look of sober- 
ness and conviction so widespread. Never before had 
he seen the tears of regret and the tears of joy, so 
mingled, never before had he seen so many strength- 
ened and willing to urge upon others the beauty and 
preciousness of salvation. 

Near by was a young man who seemed to have been 
greatly sobered and troubled by the talk, and when 
the invitation was given Harry went to him and urged 
him to give up struggling against his good impulses 
and desires, and to forsake sin and its condemnation. 
He was a bright young man, and seemed to fully 
realize his condition, and, being well-nigh convinced, 
Harry at last had the joy of seeing him make his way 
to the front. 

Then, looking around, he saw another man to whom 
no one was talking. He was an older man, with a 
white, dissipated face, so far as could be seen, for he 
sat looking upon the floor, his chin supported by his 
hands and his face well-nigh buried in them. There 
he sat so steadily and so unmoved by anything about 
him, that if there had been anyone else to whom Harry 
could have gone he would certainly not have disturbed 
him, but there was not. So he was debating in his mind 
how he should approach, and what he could say to one 
so unconcerned, when a hymn was given out to be sung. 


Ibeleit parfter 


The man had evidently been partially conscious of 
what was being said, for he straightened up as though 
in anticipation of the song. The seat beside him had 
been vacated and Harry sat down in it and extended 
his book. 

The man tried to sing but was evidently unused to 
it. Sometimes, when confident of tune, his voice would 
swell out and broaden, quite boldly, then he would 
seem to falter and his assurance to fail him, so that he 
would suddenly cease and mark time only by the 
movement of one of his long, tapering fingers. 

As they sat down he resumed almost his former 
position, but Harry, pointing to the headline of one of 
the songs, “Jesus Saves,” asked, “Do you believe 
that?” 

Raising his eyes, the man looked at it for a full 
minute it seemed, and then replied, “I don’t know.” 

“You never knew it from experience?” 

The man shook his head. 

“Wouldn’t you like to be a Christian? Wouldn’t 
you like to be saved from sinning, and have your sins 
forgiven?” 

“Yes — but it ain’t possible.” 

“It is possible only through Christ. If you repent, 
he will forgive you.” 

There was a moment’s hesitation and then he replied: 

“Well, I dunno; I an' the boys talked it over, an’ 
they ’lowed if a man started early, or a woman, an’ 
stuck to it, it wuz a good thing, but that it wuz no 
good for us.” 

“Why is that?” asked Harry, quietly. 


176 


Ibelen partner 


“ ’Cause we’re too far gone — we’re too tough,” he 
replied, with a shade of fierceness in his tone. 

‘‘See here, you know a man cannot forgive and 
cleanse you from your sins. You have been sinning 
against God. You have been breaking his command- 
ments. You may hs.v i stolen that which was God’s but 
was in the possession, for the time, of some man, and 
then,” he said, ‘‘you know: ‘Even as you do it unto 
one of these, you do it unto me,’ so it must be God that 
shall forgive you, and it is just as easy for him to for- 
give forty years of sin as it is one year. He can wipe 
it out, because Christ died for you, and redeemed you. 

‘‘Your soul will be changed, born again, as the 
evangelist was just saying. You know you said, if a 
man started out early that religion was a good thing. 
If God forgives your sins, your soul will start out as 
fresh and clear of guilt as you started out in this world 
but your body will still be old and marked by sin. 
I do not say but what your old habits will sometimes 
bother you, nor but what you will sometimes be 
tempted, but it cannot sin without the consent of the 
soul. You will hate sin then, and you will have divine 
help, to conquer it. Won’t you go forward to-night?” 

‘‘No,” he shook his head, and though Harry could 
see only part of his features, he knew of the hopeless 
despair upon his face. 

‘‘If I wuz forgiven, an’ knew it. I’d turn right 

around and do some d meanness — why, if I'd die 

right away,” he continued earnestly, ‘‘an’ goto heaven. 
I’d be hankerin’ fer’ liq’r an’ such, seems to me, till it 
’ud be a hell. I don’t know anything about the devil’s 


fcelen |^atfeet 




place, if there is any, but there’ll be plenty go there, 
if I do, an’ I’ll be more at home amongst ’em, I 
guess.” 

Harry sighed deeply. What a black, impenetrable 
cloud hangs between such a man’s eyes and God! 
There was not much more could be said, though for a 
little time he did not give up his attempt, and, at the 
last, he invited him to come again to the meetings. 

The meeting was being brought to a close, and it 
was surely time — eleven o'clock — but how precious to 
heaven and earth had these last moments been, in the 
gaining of souls! 

He had turned to go out with the lingering crowd, 
when he turned back and rubbed his eyes, and looked 
again — there was Helen Parker coming down the aisle 
toward him. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Yes, it was Helen Parker, and he had thought her 
sick. He had been so earnestly regretting that she was 
not there, for she could not, he had felt, have resisted 
the wonderful power of this meeting, and now it 
dawned slowly upon his puzzled mind she was not 
sick, she had been there, though he had not seen her, 
and she had come through the meeting unchanged. 

Yes, for in that brief minute, till she had come to 
him, he had eagerly studied the soul as it is seen 
through the eyes, the face. What need of words. The 
transforming light had not come — besides, all of the 
converts were still up in front. 

As he greeted her it was with disappointment so 
great that he could scarce speak, and she must have 
seen or felt it, for she turned her face away as though 
she well knew she had not met his wishes, and felt ill 
at ease under his look. Little did he know of the 
tumult raging within her. 

The car was full and had started, when they came 
out, and so Harry asked if she would mind walking. It 
had flashed into his mind that in that event he would 
have a good opportunity to find what were the work- 
ings of her mind and heart, what obstacle barred 
her so effectually from the acceptance of mercy, or 
whether she were apathetic and uncaring. 

She expressed her willingness as it was such a clear 
178 


Ibelen parfter 


179 


beautiful night, almost as light as day. So they had 
started, walking in silence for some distance; perhaps, 
each thinking of the same thing, but neither wishing 
to start too precipitately in conversation on this theme 
of such wonderful importance, and yet requiring such 
careful handling. Partly as an introduction to greater 
things and partly to satisfy his curiosity, Harry at length 
asked, “You were sick to-day, were you not?” 

Just in front of them was a man, walking so slowly 
that they had almost overtaken him, and, attracted by 
Harry’s voice, he looked around, and then, with a 
sudden start, he turned facing them, hesitating and 
with an expression on his face as a thief, caught with 
some pleasing beauty and debating whether he should 
run or hold his ground. 

Harry at once recognized him as the man to whom 
he had talked in the meeting that night, but in no way 
could he account for the strange indecision of his man- 
ner nor why he should stand looking at them in that 
fashion — unless he had changed his mind since their 
talk, and, wishing to tell him of his determination or 
speak of it in some way, was embarrassed by Helen’s 
presence. He was about to ask if there was some- 
thing he wished to say when his attention was sud- 
denly attracted to Helen by a kind of gasping cry and 
intaking of the breath and a consciousness that the 
graceful lithe form at his side had suddenly become 
rigid and cold. 

Into her features had come a coldness and scorn that 
had seemingly transformed or frozen them into mar- 
ble, and her eyes flashing with angry disdain gleamed 


i8o 


Ibelen parfeet 


in the semi light of the night as he had never seen 
them before. In his surprise he could only follow her 
gaze to the trembling wretch before them who stood 
with opened lips as though he would speak and yet 
from whom there came no sound and then again look 
back to her, whose expression, as she turns, gives him 
a shock. 

And then a tremor seems to pass through Helen’s 
frame. She throws out her hand to him as though she 
needed his support, and he feels that she is trembling 
violently. A transformation comes upon her face such 
as he could not have dreamed possible. The haughty 
lips relax, there comes a tinge of color and sympathy 
into the cheeks, an indescribable expression of seem- 
ing pain and regret, and with a fresh start of surprise 
he notes the glistening of tears in the eyes that had 
glowed so fiercely and again he thinks he is dreaming. 
Then she left his side and took the man by the hand 
and cried over it and called him “Father.” 

The night had been strangely varied, since first he 
had felt his senses drowsily slipping away from him 
in his little room. It had been a strange admixture of 
dreaming, surprises and reality, and now his confused 
brain began to wonder whether he had left his room at 
all except in the roaming of his imagination, and 
whether the singular movements of this gaunt wrinkle- 
faced old man and this beautiful sobbing girl were not 
strange fantasies of his unconsciousness. 

But presently he had convinced himself that they 
were not and he began to be conscious of what they 
were saying, not that he understood so much the 


tbelen t»arfeer 


i8t 


meaning of their talk until afterwards, but he felt the 
mechanical impress of their words upon his ears. 

“I want to be your friend now,’* Helen was saying 
earnestly, “I’d like to help you somehow — to quit 
drinking and — be better.’’ 

The man gave a great sigh. 

“I’m glad you do care some for me, but the way you 
treated me before was ther best; ’tain’t right, my 
girl, ’at I should drag you down. I’m glad to see you 
go to church, I — I’d better stay to my old place.’’ 

“No, father. I’ve treated you wrong, awfully wicked, 
and I want to show you I’m sorry. If you could come 
and live at Mrs. Gray’s so we would be near each 
other maybe she could give you some work. She needs 
a man every once in a while I know, and if you could 
— but maybe you have some work.’’ 

“No, I haven’t much,’’ he replied, huskily. 

“Well, wouldn’t you come then if I should get you 
a place? I believe I could rent a little room right next 
to mine. I’m sure you’d like it, and I could fix it up 
nice; I’m working at ’s, you know.’’ 

“I’m afraid — I know you’d get tired of me; I ain’t 
fit—’’ 

“You are too, papa, you will be; I’m different from 
what I was — don’t you see. Mrs. Gray’s is not so fine; 
I am not so proud — ’ 

“You are different, Helen, I believe — ’’ and here the 
man seemed to ponder for a moment. 

“It’s probably just as well,’’ he continued slowly, 
“if you’d see about de — about a room, and if I can get 
something to do, we’ll see about it Helen.” 


Ibelen parfter 


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“All right; I’m sure I can.” 

“You must tell me of yourself — and your mother — I 
haven’t heard lately, you know.” 

“Yes, but first I must introduce you to my friend.” 

Some movement of Harry’s had seemingly brought 
him to remembrance and she led the man over to him, 
and said, 

“This is my father — Harry Spencer.” 

He had only words and sense to bow and mutter, 
“your father.” 

“Yes,” she said, “I have not seen him for a long 
time, and I want him to come and live at Mrs. Gray’s 
now. We’re going home,” she continued, with a 
short laugh, “we can talk as we walk and it is getting 
late.” 

So the three set out, Harry walking behind the 
others. 

“You must excuse me,” Helen had said, “for I 
have so much to tell my father, and you know I hav^e 
walked home with you so often — you can’t complain,” 
and so, as he walked along, perhaps the motion 
helped to clear away that hazy dreamy feeling that 
had so oppressed him. He began to comprehend 
that this wretched, hopeless man, and this beautiful, 
thoughtless, . young girl, for both of whom he had 
labored, and for whose souls he was so anxious, were 
strangely enough father and child, that the strangeness 
of a providence which cannot be fathomed had brought 
them together from a separation of which he could not 
guess. 

They were not talking so much after all. Helen’s 


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183 


news, whatever it was, was soon told. A change in 
one’s life can be told quickly and the work, the every- 
day life of a score of days can be expressed in a single 
sentence. As for the father, his life and the changes 
therein could be best expressed by silence. He had 
nothing to say and besides he was content to only 
walk and feel this young girl upon his arm and by his 
side; to look down into her face, to dream a little 
perhaps of younger days; to look upon the bright 
moonlight and the peace of the now sleeping city and 
perhaps it seemed like heaven to him. 

And so the past was dropped and they spoke now 
and then of their plan for the future — she gladly and 
he with gratitude and yet hesitating acquiescence. 
When they came to their destination, Harry, feeling, he 
noticed with surprise, a dislike for the man, yet, that 
he might show his sympathy, took him by the hand 
and said that he was glad he and his daughter had 
found each other and, reminding him of their talk 
in the meeting that night, said he hoped he should see 
him there again and that he would think seriously of 
accepting religion, as a help and a safeguard to him 
and a joy more than he could imagine. 

The man seemed greatly affected and replied in a 
husky voice, not lifting his eyes, and then Harry left 
them. As he looked back, Helen was sitting upon the 
lower step, and her father, loathe to go, was leaning 
against a tree near by, his eyes still turned upon the 
ground. 

The next day Helen was back in her place at the 
store and all day seemed so cheerful and happy that 


Ibelen iC)atfeet 


184 


Harry was unreasonably and foolishly jealous and 
cast down, that this miserable old drunkard should so 
occupy her thoughts and perhaps mar the great pur- 
pose for which he had been so long striving. 

He was glad to see her 'kind to him, and wish to 
reform him, and yet human ties seemed small and 
unimportant by the side of that great bond of love he 
wished so earnestly to see established between heaven 
and the soul of this girl. Should she reform him it 
would be a grand work, but human-wrought transfor- 
mations are scarce, and at the best are only a change 
of form and not of heart. Besides, he had somehow 
reached such a steadfast, unchanging idea of the hope- 
lessness and despair of this man that he looked upon 
his words as almost a certainty that he would dis- 
grace her. 

And then, too, the meetings were almost over, the 
few remaining nights were precious. Would she come 
out and avail herself of them, or would she stay at 
home with him, to visit and to show her affection for 
him? He thought the latter more likely, but even 
should she come, would she go forward. He knew 
that each rejection strengthened pride and made 
acceptance less possible. She had passed through the 
night before, and to his judgment that seemed a crisis 
— the place where she should have yielded, and she 
had not. 

So, as he went that night it was with doubts, not in 
God, not in the hope and power of salvation, no — but 
in her, that she would consent to be saved. He tried 
to reconcile himself to, or rather to imagine, the thought 


Ibelen parfeer 


185 


that she might after all be lost. There were hundreds 
of souls just as precious being lost. There were girls 
— he had passed some on the way — as pretty and as 
graceful, though many such did not exist, hilarious, 
unshamed, reveling, wicked — but this girl he loved. 
He said it to himself over and over; she was more 
precious to him than body and soul. 

What was his surprise then to see her come in, 
alone. Maybe her father had not come as they had 
planned last night, but he could gather from her face 
no disappointment; instead, there seemed however to 
be a different expression than usual, but he could not 
make out what or why it was. 

The meeting had progressed about as usual when 
near the close the evangelist said, “And now we would 
like to hear from some of those who have just lately 
started in the way. It will do you good to speak a 
word, if you have found Jesus, a Savior, if he has 
brought you a peace and joy, if you have felt the bless- 
edness of forgiven sins, tell us of it; encourage us, 
encourage some of these others who are weak about 
you, and you will find yourself encouraged and strength- 
ened by the effort.” 

This exhortation was at once responded to by sev- 
eral and then Harry was astounded to see her rise to 
her feet and speak with something of that old air of 
defiance that so well became her. 

“I believe I was saved last night; 1 feel that God 
cares for me and that I care for Him.” 

That was all, a short and inelegant testimony, some 
would say, and yet it was well spoken, aqd seemed 


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better as you heard it from her lips. A few words — yes, 
but they meant a great deal, they were enough to send 
a great thrill of joy that is unspeakable through the 
heart of one who was sitting forward in the choir. 

And then this same individual went down and shook 
hands with her as the meeting closed. He said nothing 
but his eyes showed that he was very glad, and as they 
pressed their way out amongst the crowd, they set out 
together, walking. Neither had spoken, but he had 
cast a glance of disfavor at the waiting car, and she 
had seemed to understand, possibly they had read each 
other’s minds, possibly they had not seen the car. As 
the girl spoke, her words did not seem to indicate what 
her thoughts were, and her voice was sort of dreamy 
as though it was hardly intended for her companion, 
“Oh, isn’t it wonderful?” 

He however seemed to understand to what she 
alluded and also that she had addressed him, for he 
answered “Yes, to feel you’re saved, to feel the pres- 
ence of God — but may I ask you when you took that 
step. Miss Parker, I — I thought — not at the meeting 
last night.” 

“No, not at the meeting — and I knew last night you 
felt so bad about it, you saw that I wasn’t, and you 
looked so sorry — that was the strange part of it. I 
didn’t know whether a person could be converted like 
I was, and if it had been anybody else I wouldn’t have 
believed it — but I felt to-night that I was and I just 
told them so. 

“You see that Salvation Army meeting was the first 
time I thought much about such things, and somehow 


Ibelen patfeec 


187 


I never forgot that. Then your talk and the way 
you acted, seemed so different from the rest of us. 
Then I began to come to the meetings, and the 
longer I came the worse I felt. I sometimes thought 
I’d quit coming but it seemed like I couldn’t. As soon 
as night would come, I would be thinking about it, 
and was restless and fidgety until I would get ready 
and go. 

“Well, you know the day I was sick, the evening 
before that when I came home, I was feeling meaner 
than ever. Some things had been said at the meeting 
that stirred me up so I was just miserable. I felt that I 
had lived so careless and wicked all my life, and then 
I thought how I had promised you to try and be a 
Christian and how I’d felt like I ought to go up to the 
front every night and then I hadn’t. 

“So, all that night I couldn’t sleep, I felt like I 
must settle it one way or the other, I knew that if I 
should join the church May and Nell and John and all 
those would laugh at me. It seemed like I would have 
to give up dancing and all my fun, the theater 
and everything, and I didn’t know whether I could 
stand that or not, and then another thing: I had always 
felt kind of hard since I had left home. I used to live 

on street you know. I never told you much 

about it, but I did. My father drank, and I thought 
that was a disgrace to me and I had come to hate him. 
Then my mother and I had trouble on account of 
the man she had married partly and partly on my 
account, and I came to hate her worse than my father. 
You can’t imagine how I hated her and how bitter I 


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Ibelen parser 


felt against some of the people I used to know, and 
because I had had to leave home and work in a store. 
Sometimes, when I’d think of it I used to just jump 
up and down and shake my fist and almost bite and 
kick things around me, and of course feeling anything 
like that I knew I couldn’t be a Christian. 

“I walked the floor that night and read the Bible 
and thought, but to save me I couldn’t seem to feel 
any better and by morning I was about sick and sent 
word I couldn’t come to the store. Then I tried to go to 
sleep. I did about noon and slept all afternoon, so I 
felt a little better; at night I came to the meeting 
again I thought maybe something would help me to 
decide. 

“I did almost decide; there at the last I did almost 
say I would give up, but still it seemed like I couldn’t 
go forward and I felt awful. Then when I saw you, 
you looked so disappointed and I felt worse than ever. 
I knew you was going to talk to me, and I dreaded 
it.” 

“Well, I dreaded it too,” put in Harry, “I was afraid 
I would get you disgusted with my preaching.” 

“No, I don’t think you would have, you always 
seemed so careful not to say anything that would hurt 
my feelings. Well, then we met my father, all of a 
sudden he was right there in front of me, as though he 
was put there just to see how I would act and I was won- 
dering myself how I would treat him. I felt if I got 
mad again and sent him away like I despised him that 
I might as well give up trying to be religious. I 
thought at first that would be the way I would do, and 


ibelen ip a r ft e r 


189 

then I thought, ‘Oh, if God will only help me I will try 
to treat him right,’ and then I went up to him and 
asked him if he would forgive me, and told him I 
would be his friend. He had asked me to once and I 
had refused, and then it seemed like I was so glad I did 
it. I felt better right away. 

“And then that night when I went up in my room I 
asked God to forgive me, and told him I wouldn’t hate 
anybody any more and that I would try to do right. 
I prayed that my father might come back, and 
that I might be able to help him — and it seemed like I 
felt an answer as you once said I would. Wasn’t that 
a strange way to be converted?’’ 

“Yes, but a very good way; better than going for- 
ward, as some do at the first impulse, or just because 
some one else does, without any sober thought and 
appreciation of what they are giving up and what they 
are receiving.” 

He was thinking himself of the great providence of 
God and how poor human plans and judgments are. 

“And I had the little faith to believe you were not 
thinking much about it, or was kind of giving it up, 
and I had made up my mind as you said to give you 
another talking to, when we met your father and I 
was so surprised by the way you acted that I was 
really stunned and thought sure I must be dreaming.” 

“Not much wonder,” replied Helen, laughing, 
“seeing you did not know I had a father, but now you 
know why I acted as I did. But you don’t know how 
different I feel. Above everything else I would like 
to see my father converted and join the church, he 


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190 


would be all right if he could quit drinking, but that 
keeps him back just as my stubbornness did me, for I 
was stubborn and that was all, while he has such a ter- 
rible appetite to conquer. I used to think there was 
no hope for him, just as he feels about himself, but I 
feel now that if he were converted and was really saved, 
he might be able to quit. I feel different about 
myself and I feel different about him.” 

Her voice had become tremulous and broken by 
emotion and Harry did not break in upon the silence 
that ensued. Perhaps he could not offer much hope 
for this old, hopeless man and yet God moves in a 
mysterious way his wonders to perform. 

“You will come up sometime and talk with him,” 
she asked presently, ‘‘you — I cannot, talk, and you 
always seem to know what to say.” 

‘‘Yes, I will come some night, if you wish it; where 
is your father now; did you get the room?” 

‘‘Yes, we got it, but Mrs. Gray wouldn’t give him 
any work; he got a place though in a restaurant; he 
was a waiter, I guess, in the place where he has been 
and is used to that kind of work so it wasn’t hard for 
him to get a place.” 

‘‘Is he at Mrs. Gray’s now?” 

‘‘No, I saw him when I went home to supper to- 
night but he said he wouldn’t come to stay until 
to-morrow. I showed him the room and he seemed 
much pleased with it, and I’m going to fix it up a 
little better, if I can get up in time to-morrow morn- 
ing. Oh, dear, but I do get tired.” 

They were at Mrs, Gray’s door and Helen imme- 


ibelen patFiet 


191 


diately sat down upon the lowest step with a great sigh 
of relief, while Harry, loath as the father had been to 
leave the companionship of this girl, stood leaning 
against the tree looking down upon her. 

She had her face turned up to the great white moon 
with a far-away look in her eyes — the moonlight lend- 
ing a peculiar grace and beauty to the features that 
were always pleasing In Harry's gaze there was the 
admiration of a traveler who comes upon a landscape 
more beautiful than he had dreamed of and stands 
with the tints of color and harmony filling all the 
powers of reception, and thrilling the very soul within 
him, or of a great scholar who, with mind expanded, 
gazes upon a great truth spread out before him with 
unexplainable delight. 

Such an admiration is highest tribute to a woman 
but Helen was evidently unconscious of it, for she 
presently jumped up and bade him go home, as it was 
late. 


CHAPTER XIX 


Love, — the greatest thing in the world, the only 
cord by which the Savior of men could draw men from 
their selfishness, to serve him; the only subject of his 
two greatest commandments to men that, in its 
immeasurable greatness influenced the Great God to 
give his only begotten son to redeem the ignorant, 
swarming, sin-stricken races of the first century; that 
mystery that cements and unites the happy homes of 
this country; that central thought of religion and 
philanthropy that warms, and as the heated iron, 
softens and sets glowing the hearts of men — brings 
charity and sympathy for others and brings to them- 
selves unselfishness and a desire to help others, to 
replace selfishness and cruelty, or apathy and indiffer- 
ence. 

So, though Helen Parker had seemed to be destitute 
of that natural love which a daughter should have for 
her parent, conviction had brought it strongly upon 
her that her irreverence and undutiful conduct toward 
him was far from right, and then in that suddenly- 
brought-about choice, in which religion had so 
strangely come into her life, it had brought a glow of 
feeling, contrasting with that cold scorn that had 
always so cruelly met him — if not true love, it was at 
least a strong reaction from hatred. 

And then, perhaps, the love came, and was strength- 
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i93 


ened by her plans, and interest and thoughts of him. 
Where before she had had despondency and sometimes 
a feeling of recklessness, because of her loneliness and 
the fewness of friends who really cared how she fared 
or who were interested in the doings of her little home 
or room life, now each day she could look forward to 
seeing some one there to welcome her, to listen to 
those things that had been of interest to her during the 
day, and one for whom she could plan. 

How she did husband her little wages, a sum that at 
first had seemed barely sufficient to support her own 
existence, how she planned to have a small surplus 
left, to purchase come little article of clothing, per- 
haps, that she saw her father needed, or some little 
ornament to brighten and cheer his room, how a whole 
day was often brightened by looking forward to the 
evening when she might make her little purchase, a 
purchase that would have seemed trivial and despicable 
to the fashionable young Miss Parker of a couple of 
years previous to this, but now to the same individual 
was precious, because of this same love and sacrifice. 

How glad she was made by his thanks, and his 
sometimes touching anxiety to do nothing that would 
displease her, impulsive as she was, so that where her 
hatred had been fierce and resistless, now that her 
nature had been changed and her ambition turned to 
helpfulness, it was no weak vacillating fancy that 
urged her to do for him, but a strong and steady pur- 
pose, strengthened by the fire of Christianity. 

And it was well for the father that her devotion was 
so strong and untiring now, for he was fighting a bat- 


194 


Ibelen parfeer 


tie against great odds. How sadly obliterated had 
been that strong intelligent lawyer of twenty-two, how 
cruelly the form of that glad young husband of twenty- 
five, so fond of his child, how he must now fight that 
awful power that had overcome the strong young man, 
how must he throttle again and again that poisonous 
viper which seemed to rise up within and in its great 
struggles to cause his very body to writhe with 
anguish. 

Busy in the kitchen of the restaurant through the 
days, which seemed endless, he would come home at 
night and throw himself upon the bed in his little 
room, and there Helen would find him, sometimes ly- 
ing quietly with his face turned to the light, gazing 
maybe through the open doorway as though expecting 
her, and at such times she would go in to him with 
expressions of sympathy and solicitude and stroke the 
cold moisture from his brow and run her slender fin- 
gers through the grizzled hair until, perhaps, he would 
close his eyes, contented, and sink into sleep which, 
though troubled and restless, was a partial rest to him. 

Then at other times she would find him with his face 
buried in the pillows, tossing impatiently about, and a 
glance at his face as he turned, revealed an expression 
drawn and defiant, a fierce contraction of his features 
that showed that all his powers were concentrated in 
the struggle of a desperate will against raging passion 
and desire, and at such times she dared not go in but 
could only pace the floor of her own little room in the 
agony of one that sees a loved one desperately sick. 

But gradually he began to repel the burning, tor- 


t)elen Parker 


195 


meriting thirst with greater ease, the dissipated, miser- 
able body began to recover from the demon’s work, so 
that the strong coffee or chocolate which Helen gave 
him could satisfy its pangs to a great degree. He 
began slowly and almost unconsciously to drop the 
accent and the language of the tough, unrefined class 
from amongst whom he was trying to ascend, his brain 
became clearer and brighter, and his deadened and 
coarsened sensibilities began to awaken. 

We will not call him a drunkard again. As we look in 
upon him and Helen one night about two weeks after 
his coming to Gray’s we would call him another man, 
he seems quite cheerful. Helen is humming some 
tune and presently breaks out into a song that she had 
known in better days and he listens eagerly and praises 
her for it. His eye has come to meet hers squarely, 
he has lost much of that dogged look — yes, for in this 
hopeless old man hope has sprung up — queer — yes, and 
ambitions, too; strange hopes, but the strangest and 
least possible seeming now to press forward as strong- 
est — that he might become a respectable lawyer, and 
go into practice in some smaller town with Helen 
always by him. 

And now let us remember Harry — but no, my pen 
will not stay long with him. His life is the monot- 
onous uneventful life of a steady, sober department 
store clerk He has no father or mother to come in 
suddenly to enliven it, he is making few new friends, 
he is joining but little in the excitement and pleasures 
of life, so seemingly indispensable to many of the 
young men, but he has still the comfort and solace and 


196 


Ibelen parfeet 


joys of religion, which so few comprehend as the 
truest pleasure and the greatest blessing of life. 

No, my pen turns irresistibly to wonder what Helen 
will say and do as she comes back into the store with 
the mission of Christ wrought in her. Even as 
Harry’s eyes so often turned toward her, for he knew 
there would come conflict, not now within but from 
outside forces, her companions could not help notic- 
ing the change, and she must in some way establish 
the new relation that must for the future exist between 
them. 

At first they attributed the alteration in her manner 
to her brief sickness, and told her she was not well yet 
she was so still and looked so different. She took no 
part now in their coarse wit and irreverent sayings, but 
even seemed to try to repress or avoid them. She 
declined all invitations from her admirers, Johnny 
and Henney. She even seemed to have become 
apathetic toward the theaters, so that they came to 
acknowledge that if she were sick, it was, indeed, a 
very strange sickness. 

Young Oleson, chagrined and jealous, one day 
ventured to openly connect it with her growing inti- 
macy and friendship with Harry, saying that she must 
have caught the religious fever of him, for she had the 
same symptoms, and he was afraid if there wasn’t a 
change for the better hers would soon become a 
chronic case. 

Of course this brought a laugh, and from this time 
on they gave her no peace. Harry wanted to protect 
and stand by her, but any effort on his part he felt - 


(b e I e n iC>arftct 


197 


would only give greater cause for their jests and 
jibes. 

That old saying of Solomon’s that, “An un-Godly 
man diggeth up evil, and in his lips there is as a burn- 
ing fire, that he shutteth his eyes to devise froward 
things and that moving his lips he bringeth evil to 
pass,” was impressed upon his mind as never before. 
He had once been the object of their ridicule but it 
hurt him far more now to helplessly listen to the per- 
secution of this fair, proud young girl, to see the scorn 
and indignation that must come at their taunts, and 
to see her so heroically struggling against the almost 
irrepressible temper. 

One day, at the noon hour, young Oleson told of 
how on the evening before he had gone to Mrs. Gray’s 
lodging house to see if she wouldn’t go to a swell 
dance with him — indeed it was so swell that he had 
invested a couple of dollars in tickets — but she had 
come out of the house with a Bible under her arm and 
a pious expression on her face, barely nodded at him 
and walked right away to church, and how he had 
been so charmed by her manner that he had serious 
notions of joining the church himself. 

He told this in such pitiful, whining tones, and with 
such ludicrousness and exasperating exaggeration, that 
there was a great outburst of laughter and Helen, 
stung beyond endurance, jumped up and, stamping her 
foot in rage, advanced fiercely upon him. 

Thereupon the two youths set up a howl and fled 
about the room in pretended horror, knocking over 
chairs and jumping over tables, but she did not chase 


198 


ibclen parser 


them. Instead she burst into tears and, surprised by 
this, they had for a moment ceased their demonstra- 
tions, when she turned to John Oleson and spoke to 
him with great earnestness: “You need never come 
after me to go anywhere. I don’t want anything to 
do with you and I don’t care what you say or think. 
I’ve joined the church and I’m going just as often and 
just as long as I please, and by God’s help I’m going 
to live differently from what I have.’’ 

Her voice softened from angry definance to lower 
and emotional yet determined tones, so that one after 
another ceased their laughter, and their faces became 
grave and wondering. Conversation seemed to have 
received a death blow and after an uneasy silence most 
of the group went back to their work or out upon the 
street. 

To Helen there seemed to come a reactionary 
depression. She had been tried to the last extremity, 
and now she thought she had said something that 
would give still further cause of ridicule, and she could 
never stand it. Why couldn’t people live a Christian 
life without other people knowing it. She could hav^e 
done this or that to have allayed their suspicions, she 
could have kept friends with John, gone to the theater 
some night with him — a good many of the church 
people went to the theater anyhow — but most foolish 
of all, why had she said what she did? In the cold 
criticism of her present depression her words seemed, 
as she recalled them, unsuitable and poor. And, why 
should tears have come into her eyes — they would call 
her a sniveling church member now. 


Tbelen parher 


199 


It was the day of the last night of the special meet- 
ings. Helen had been staying at home part of the 
time with her father but as this was the last night she 
felt that she wanted to go. She made special efforts 
to induce him to go with her, but he would not consent. 

It being a sort of round up and inventory of the 
converts and the blessings of the series, the spirit of 
thanksgiving and joy, the words of the sermon, the 
hymns, came with a peculiar uplifting and strengthen- 
ing force, that made the annoyances and even persecu- 
tions she had received, seem insignificant, and she 
took upon herself a new resolve to stand firm whatever 
happened to her. 

Upon the way home Harry praised her for the words 
she had spoken. 

“Do you know,” said Helen, “I was sorry afterward 
that I said anything.” 

“Why, why?” 

“Well, you know how they talk. They’ll call me 
everything — they’ll set me crazy now — where, if I’d 
just kept still and let them talk, they would have for- 
gotten it in time.” 

“No, I don’t believe they will talk as much now 
that they know where you stand. Bad as they are 
they think more of a Christian that comes right out 
and does not act ashamed of his religion, than they do 
of one who they think, perhaps, is just trying to be a 
little better than themselves.” 

“Well, I supposed it would be worse.’ 

“No, I don’t believe it will, but of course you must 
expect them to make fun of you some time. Their 


200 


Ibelen iparfeet 


tongues are not converted by a good deal. Now that 
they know you have the religious fever, I can stand 
by you and help you, maybe more than I could have 
done before. 

“It is never safe to try to take a neutral part. In 
spite of yourself you would be making concessions to 
them, or at the least you would be lowering religion in 
their eyes by trying to keep it secret, while if you 
come out boldly, as you did to-day, and stand right by 
it, you may even bring some of them to be Christians. 
I noticed that two or three of the girls seemed, very 
much affected, especially Eva Black. I think she will 
stand up for you from now on.’' 

“I hope so. She is about the best girl on the floor 
— that is, I think so now. I used to think she was 
awfully slow and quiet. I’ll try to help her and any 
of the girls, but I’m so weak myself, I can’t explain. 
I just feel different — you know how it is.” 

“Yes, I know how it is, and feeling different you will 
act differently, so that if you cannot say much your 
life will be a great influence. She will watch you— 
they all will — and if they find you honest and straight- 
forward in your belief they cannot help but admire 
you. Persecution should strengthen us. If we dodge 
and try to escape from it we will sacrifice our strength 
— we will submit and comply and knuckle down and 
weaken — but if we defy it we can turn it to our good. 
We know that they are watching us, and will, there- 
fore, be more careful. We will not do this or that, 
because it will give them occasion to point at us in 
derison. Or, if we feel that we have some influence 


Ibelen patfeev 


201 


over them and that so far we have set them a good 
example, we will be all the more careful not to spoil 
it all by yielding to one temptation.” 

There was a short silence and then Harry asked, 
“Couldn’t you get your father to come out to the 
meetings?” 

“No, he wouldn’t come because he said his clothes 
were not fit and that he didn’t look well enough. He 
is afraid that people will look down on me if he goes 
anj^where with me, but I told him that you wouldn’t — • 
that you were not that kind of person.” 

“No, I suppose that most of the people in our 
church wouldn’t think a mite less of you, but there are 
some I expect who would, though I wouldn’t care for 
their opinion.” 

Helen thought of herself as she had once been and 
smiled. “It’s strange how different people look at 
things,” she said. “Well I wish I could have gotten 
him to go with me before the meetings closed, but he 
wouldn’t, he said, until he could earn a new suit. 
They don’t pay him very much where he is and, with 
all my saving, it keeps us pretty short.” 

“I imagine,” said Harry. “If I could help him — if 
yqu need any money any time I am saving a little and 
would be glad to lend it to you without usury.” 

“I am obliged for the offer,” she replied, “and if it 
is necessary I wouldn’t hesitate to ask you, but l think 
it will not be. I want you to come up some night 
next week and visit with my father, and get 
acquainted. I found out that he knew, or used to 
know, Mr. Greene.” 


202 


Ibelen patfter 


“That’s good, if you can get Mr. Greene to talk 
with him and interest himself in him, it will be a great 
deal better than me,” 

“Don’t be too modest,’’ was the reply. “I want 
him to know you both.’’ 

They had reached Mrs. Gray’s. “Well,” said 
Harry with a sigh, “this is the last of the meetings, 
and of my walking home with you.’’ 

“I’m glad of that,” she replied, with an air of 
coquettishness she seldom used in his presence, but 
yet speaking with such soberness that he was startled 
by her words. 

“What, you are glad of it!’’ he cried. 

“Yes,” and then after a short silence in which he was 
in vain trying to form words to express his feelings of 
surprise and indignation and dismay of heart, she con- 
tinued, “I have been a great deal of bother to you.’’ 

“What, is that the reason?’’ 

“Yes.’’ 

“Well, that is no good reason, and if that is all you 
can offer you must say you are sorry.’’ 

“Sorry for what?’’ she asked. 

“That it is the last of the meetings, and — ’’ 

“Oh, is that all?’’ she asked as he hesitated, avert- 
ing her face. 

“No,’’ he replied in a low emotional tone, “are you 
sorry that we shall not come home together, any- 
more?’’ 

“Why yes. I have enjoyed your company and your 
talks, and I shall never forget what you have done for 
me in bringing me into the meetings as you did.’’ 


Ibelen ipatfeec 


203 


There was not much said after that, and that which 
w^as, was too indistinct for an outsider’s ears, as they 
stood, he with his back against one of the shade trees 
by the side of the walk, and she not far away, tapping 
her little foot upon the edge of it, looking around and 
above -at the beautiful night, and at each other, feel- 
ing each that warm glow of heart, that quickening of 
the breath, and of the pulse, that unconsciousness of 
body, that ecstacy of mind, that throb of sympathy 
from heart to heart that two such young people may 
feel in each other’s presence, and for which many 
words are not suitable. 

And then the words of parting were spoken with 
feeling, so that they lingered and re-echoed pleasantly 
through each being. The alphabet is cold — words are 
as the bark of the dog and the harshness of the wind — 
but for the language of the soul which vibrates with 
meaning through the sound. 

So, as Harry listened and recalled her words, he felt 
there had been no hashness, no apathy, no coolness in 
them. There had been words of feeling and there had 
been a shade of tenderness in them. 

She was grateful to him, yes, for he had awakened 
her to a better life, and she realized that the change 
had been of great value, but had there been in them 
anything deeper that might correspond or respond to 
that feeling of affection in his heart. 

He loved her — and madly, as youth loves. He had 
realized it strongly that night as they had stood 
together. He had longed to take her in his arms— he 
had scarce been able to keep back the eager burning 


204 


Ibelen iparfeet 


words of love, as he had touched her hand. There 
had been that quick .magnetic shock which tells of pas- 
sion’s warmth, and he had felt the slight, unaffected 
trembling of her fingers as his hand slid off them to 
his side. He had not so long admired the graceful, 
sensuous movements of that slender form, he- had not 
so often noted the flash of anger, the scorn, the joy 
and the sorrow upon those expressive features, and in 
those dark eyes, he had not so long been interested and 
sympathetic in that struggle to turn her soul from evil 
unto God, he had not so often felt the thrill from her 
touch, nor so eagerly tried to understand her moods 
and her words, without kindling somehow within him- 
self — love — that love which, as I said, is most wonder- 
ful, and being wost wonderful, is most mysterious. 


CHAPTER XX 


“And lest thou lift up thine eyes unto heaven, and 
when thou seest the sui:, and the moon, and the stars, ^ 
even all the host of heaven, should’st be driven to 
worship them and serve them, which the Lord thy God 
hath divided unto all nations under the whole heaven.” 

It was Saturday evening. Helen had that morning 
specified that evening as the one on which Harry 
should come to visit with her father and incidentally, 
of course, with herself, and he, having started some- 
what early, was proceeding leisurely, enjoying the 
evening breeze after the confinement of the day. 

The days at that time of the year are long so that 
the stars were just beginning to glow and twinkle 
brightly. He had just been reading an interesting 
book on astronomy that Mr. Greene, who was quite an 
enthusiast on the subject, had lent him, and with 
increasing knowledge there had come increased inter- 
est, wonder and reverence for that wonderful science 
of motion and distance and weight. 

This verse had been given as a reference, and now, 
after two or three attempts he was able to repeat it. 

How far above man the subject is — how inconceiv- 
able the distance, how incomparable the momentum 
and precision of motion, how much beyond realiza- 
tion the extent and volume of the universe, how won- 
derful the laws that govern and control it! And how 


206 


Tbelen parfeet 


men have observed and figured and compared, how, 
for years, they have been converting these inconceiv- 
able distances and motions and weights into figures 
just as inconceivable but very precious in their preju- 
diced eyes. 

To the grimy coal-heaver it matters little whether 
Jupiter has three moons or four, or whether Neptune is 
covered with ice. To the farmer it seems foolishness to 
estimate the distance to the North Star, or the vegeta- 
tion that may exist on the moon. On many the stars 
shine almost unheeded and unnoticed. The moon 
rises, heralded only by the howl of the dog, the com- 
monplace sun shines each day to make up the com- 
monplace day. 

“Lest thou shouldst be driven to worship them and 
serve them.” How needless that exhortation now, 
thought Harry. Men know better than to worship 
stars; but why? 

If the savage had turned his face in worship from 
the black bloodthirsty savagery about him to the pure 
moon as it arose so silently into the skies and to the 
mysterious twinkling lights in the heavens, why 
should not men, knowing as they do the magnificence 
and beauty of the universe, reverence it more. 

“Verily, a little knowledge puffeth up, and maketh 
vain,” and a little time brings apathy and indifference. 
If the stars should fade away, leaving a terrible 
impenetrable darkness; if the moon should tumble 
erratically about in the far distance; if the comets 
should come shrieking, twisting, burning past, and the 
sun should advance and glare upon the earth until the 


Ibelen patfter 


207 


trees should wither and men should lay panting like 
lizards in the sand of the desert, then would they 
awaken and acknowledge the mightiness of God. 

No. Better that he hath divided them unto all 
nations under the whole heaven, that men may come 
to see through them a God of order, and not chaos, of 
love and care instead of terribleness and irrepressible 
power; better that from superstitions wonder they 
should lead men to knowledge; better that through 
their utility they should impress their purpose upon 
men; better that through their certainty men may be 
reassured; better that through their mightiness men 
may be humbled; better that through their beauty and 
purity their thoughts should sometimes be lifted up 
among the clouds, beyond and above among the shin- 
ing worlds, and then up and up by faith, till in the 
light of heaven, in the presence of the Creator, they 
are only toys — or better, objects — wonderful only for 
their mission, the homes, the developers of human 
souls. 

They are the shining lights, the stars of eternity; 
souls w'hich live and shine while stars and suns fade 
away; souls for which the universe exists; souls, which 
from the heaven above outrival the brightness of the 
sun; souls which, as fine wheat, are the outcome of the 
world’s harvest. 

And how careless and thoughtless of their souls men 
are — how paltry so many of their desires; how unsen- 
sible so many of their plans; how vain so many of 
their boastings and their pride! How many, there in 
the city, in the frantic pursuit of one of the metals, 


208 


Ibelen ipatfeet 


less wonderful than the common dirt which they stamp 
scornfully from their feet, care little for the other 
substance of the universe! How many, that their 
bodies may be finely clad, are uncaring what may 
come in contact with their souls! How many are 
sacrificing their hope of heaven, that their surround- 
ings here may minister to their selfishness! How- 
many, who for the sake of some standing among their 
fellows, seem to care little how their souls shall stand 
before their Creator! Why are they so subverting and 
dwarfing themselves? 

But yet it is better than when men bowed them- 
selves before a frog, or a grasshopper, or the image of 
a snake. The sun was steadily pointing out the wis- 
dom and the resources of the earth, the stars which 
had sparkled on them, should still twinkle, twinkle 
on, that men might wonder, measure, figure on, until 
they became wise. 

So while Harry had in body been traversing the dis- 
tance between his own room and the house of Mrs. 
Gray his mind had been, almost unconsciously, revel- 
ing unrestrained in time and space. 

He was shown to Helen’s room, and at the knock 
upon her door she opened it, looking, he thought, 
very pale and anxious. She started at the sight of him 
as though she had expected some one else, and looked 
furtively down the hall as though undecided and much 
concerned about something, but shutting the door she 
took Harry’s hat, apologizing for not having done so 
at first. 

Then having opened up her father’s room she 


Ibelen Iparfeet 


^og 

showed him how nicely she had it fixed, and drawing 
out her father’s chair, which was the best, for Harry, 
she sat on a sofa chatting away as unconcernedly and 
bravely as possible, glancing frequently toward the 
door. Her father, she said generally came home by 
seven, and sometimes before that, and now it was 
almost eight o’clock, he must surely come soon. 

And so presently there came sounds of footsteps 
outside. With a light and active bound she was at 
the door and had opened it. There stood the drunk- 
ard, his face inflamed by liquor, his hands trembling, 
with an awful expression of shame and disgrace, and 
yet of beseeching and entreaty. 

So he stood hesitating, cringing, trembling, know- 
ing he deserved scorn and contempt, and ready to flee 
from it, as the cringing cur would from the foot of its 
master, or even as it, to accept the glance of recogni- 
tion or a word of forgiveness, and so creep in, embold- 
ened yet shamefaced and crestfallen. 

Helen’s face turned scarlet, not from anger as it 
once would, but from shame and mortification and 
dismay. She had invited this young man to her home, 
anticipating a pleasant time; she had hoped that he 
might induce her father as he had her, to turn to 
Christianity; she had hoped that they might become 
friends, these two, that her father might find pleasure 
in his company, and that he might find encouragement 
in his sympathy and interest. 

She had been encouraged to believe that he had con- 
quered this terrible habit. She had planned only 
bright gain for the future. She had noted with joy 


210 


Ibelen parfeet 


his straightening figure, the improving boldness of his 
eye, the decreasing roughness and uncouthness of 
language and manner. But now again was his tall 
form bent as hopelessness had bent it, now again had 
the tinge of liquor brought out those old lines and 
wrinkles of dissipation. It was a sore disappoint- 
ment; but she reached out her hand and led him inside. 

Then knowing not what to do with him, and catch- 
ing sight of the flush of indignation upon Harry’s face, 
she threw herself face downward upon the sofa. 

But Harry did not look to her, the start, and look of 
terror that had come to the features of the despica- 
ble drunkard when he saw that Harry was present, a 
witness of his shame, recalled somehow an event of 
his childhood, he was searching with strange intentness 
the face of this man, and suddenly he sprang to his feet 
and grasped by him by the shoulder: 

“I know where I’ve seen you,” he cried in a 
strained, unnatural voice, “it was at Whisky Mike’s 
saloon. I was looking down through the window — he 
was my father.” 

The drunkard gave a hoarse, horrified cry as though 
death had touched him, and stood reeling, [his eyes 
glaring fearfully upon Harry from his blanched face. 
Thus for a moment they stood. Into Harry there had 
come such a rush of tumultuous feeling that he felt he 
would choke, while his heart beat with such an oppress- 
ive energy that he was as weak and helpless as the 
other, and could only stand gripping his throat. 

To the murderer, realization brought strength first. 
Despite his intoxicated condition his muscles sud- 


Ibclen parfeet 


2lt 


denly stiffened, and springing to the door he tore it 
open with such strength that the lock, catch and 
splinters from the door-jamb flew across the room — and 
he was gone. 

An instant’s indecision because of a frightened won- 
dering look from Helen and Harry had followed. 
Down the stairs and around a corner he went, without 
realizing it, so that afterwards he wondered how it had 
come about, and he found himself running at full 
speed down an alley-way with the object of his chase 
not far ahead covering the ground as though pos- 
sessed. He felt himself carried along by that strong 
surge of feeling within, as one feels himself carried 
upon a great ocean surge — irresistibly. He was con- 
scious of no physical discomfort because of his exer- 
tions. The inequalities of the ground and the 
obstacles in his way seemed to pass from under him as 
easily and swiftly as though he were leaning from the 
window of a flying coach and taking note of them. 

And with surprise he found himself summoning and 
trying to analyze his feeling toward this man, his 
father’s murderer. He had often thought and won- 
dered about him. He had, in the impulsiveness of his 
childhood, spoken bitterly against him, had stoutly 
declared his intentions to find him, when he got to be 
a man, and have him put in jail. He had then listened 
aversely to his mother’s gentle words toward him; but 
her Christian reasoning had conquered, he had 
schooled himself to believe that if he should ever see 
him it would be without passion and hatred. 

But why then did he pursue so fiercely? Had 


^12 


tbelen l&avfeet 


enmity and malice sprung up again? Did that burning 
thrilling sensation of indignation and revenge denote 
the depravity of man’s heart which cannot be covered 
up or a bloodthirstiness in him, so far distant from 
the heathen? Perhaps the anger he felt at the pain 
and disgrace he had caused this girl rankled as deeply 
and incensed him as much as that other more heinous, 
but less recent crime. But there had also been 
thoughts whirling through his head of justice and the 
law. Was it not his duty to prosecute him? Is it not 
said that justice should be satisfied? But yet would it 
be very satisfactory to punish this man? Would his 
life satisfy justice? Would it be his duty or his 
pleasure to clutch him by the throat if he could catch 
up with him? Could he prove to a judge that he 
recognized this man as a dangerous criminal — -and 
what would Helen think of him for trying? These 
were his thoughts and with a surprising clearness he 
was going over them in his mind when suddenly his 
speed was checked and his attention was drawn from 
these matters by a large bull dog which, awakened by 
the flight of him who was so rapidly proceeding, came 
bounding over a fence, with fierce growls, just in time 
to grab him by the leg. 

With a vindictive clutch and a strength he little 
realized his hands fastened upon the brute’s throat. 
There was a fierce struggle, then the huge jaws relaxed 
and the dog fell over quivering and grasping for 
breath. Then with a sensation of uncontrollable rage 
he grasped it by the skin of the back and hurled it 
over the fence from whence it had come. 


Ibelen parfeet 


213 


Then he went on, but more slowly, bareheaded and 
puffing, until he reached the intersection of another 
street, where he halted and looked every way. The 
drunkard had escaped. There was no use to run or to 
look now. Perhaps it was for the best. So he 
retraced his steps and secured his hat, and for the first 
time examined his wound. The dog in its fierceness 
had bitten with more eagerness than judgment, so that 
although the skin had been broken by his teeth and 
smarted greatly, there was little damage done. 

But now he was in a very unenviable position. He 
had become aware that his lungs were almost bursting 
from his exertions, so he had sat down upon the edge 
of a walk, and clasped his hands upon his sides in an 
effort to get back his breath and strength, and he 
began to see the awkwardness of the situation in which 
he found himself. He felt that it was his duty, to go 
back to Helen and try to comfort and explain. But 
no; that was what he could not do. He could not tell 
her that this man whom she must call father was a 
murderer, had taken the life of his father. How ter- 
rible a thing murder was! How that blanched, terror- 
stricken face had haunted his brain these many years! 
At Whisky Mike’s he had seen him —yes — how strange 
that he had remembered! No, he could not tell her 
that! No words could be a comfort to her with that 
knowledge. He could not look into her face. The 
father’s curse must not come down and blast the life 
of his child. This crime must be kept concealed. He 
would keep it so. He had no desire for revenge. If 
there was uneasiness at his heart now and strange con- 


214 


Ibelen parfeet 


flict he would quiet it, he would pray, he would for- 
give. He had no hatred; he could still love the 
murderer’s daughter; but — could he deceive her? 
Could he bridge this gulf that lay between them so 
that she might not see it? Could he hope that she 
might never find out this crime? Would she believe 
that the shame of his drunkenness had caused her 
father’s disappearance? What would she think of his 
own actions? Should he tell her the truth or should he 
sacrifice principle for a moment to save her? 

Torn by these conflicting hopes and fears, it was not 
until long after his breathing had become natural and 
his temples had ceased to throb that he came in sight 
of Mrs. Gray’s place. 

He had decided he would not go in, he could not 
trust himself to meet Helen, he felt guilty, and besides 
he was nervous, his wrists twitched, he felt sure that 
his eyes would betray the secret, that the look upon his 
face would frighten her. But possibly he could see 
her. She might be looking from her window or at 
least be in sight so that he could gain some idea of 
her feeling from her expression or action. He hoped 
she was not in suspense and would soon give up his 
return and retire for the night. He made his way 
around to where he could see her window. The cur- 
tain was up and the lamp was burning, but so far as 
he could see the little room was empty. She was 
probably lying upon the sofa as he had left her, weeping. 
Then suddenly he was startled by a noise, and she 
was by his side, emerging from the shadow of some 
trees where she had been watching for him. 


Ibelen patfeet 


21S 

She was bareheaded and very pale, and as he took 
her by the arm and tried to induce her to go inside he 
found she was trembling violently. “Where is he?” 
she cried. “Couldn’t you catch him? Why did you 
chase him? Where did he go?” He answered noth- 
ing; but led her up to her little room, and warned her 
of the heavy dew and of the danger of getting chilled. 

There she repeated the questions, and accused him 
of having been cruel in driving her father away. He 
had been drinking but he might have been yet re- 
claimed. He had fallen, but he was sorry for it and with 
right treatment would have tried again. He should 
have spoken kindly to him and tried to help her. 

In her grief she was accusing him wrongly enough, 
but he was very willing to bear it and asked her for- 
giveness for his haste, and told her that her father 
might yet come back, that he would do all in his 
power to have it so, and was pleased to see her 
become calmer and more rational, though he saw that 
she was not satisfied and she had looked at him so 
queerly, he knew there was something in his face that 
caused it, and he averted it and tried to look at a 
magazine. How he wished he was away, that there 
might be nothing more said, that he could divert her 
mind. 

But she had already the question upon her lips which 
he dreaded so. “What did you say to him, it was about 
seeing him in some saloon, and then he cried out so 
and jerked open the door, see how he broke it! and 
then running that way, why should he do it, and why 
did you follow him the way you did?” 


216 


Ibelcn parfeet 


At this Harry made a pretense of fixing the broken 
door not answering her question, but his reluctance 
only increased her anxiety. 

“You only tell the truth,” she said, leaning forward 
with an expression of tenseness upon her features, 
“When did you see him — to-night?” 

“Oh, no, it was long ago,” he replied as lightly as 
possible, “it was when I was a little boy.” 

“And you still remembered him?” 

“Yes, it was strange, but the expression on his face 
somehow made him look familiar, and then all at once 
it came to me who he was, and I spoke to him almost 
before I thought. Some poeple think that our 
memories are eternal, and that every act, everything 
we see or hear, or do, is impressed upon our minds, 
never to be erased, and in proof of that they ” 

He was trying to draw her attention from those 
hastily spoken and now regretted 'words. He had 
hoped that she had not noticed them. But she inter' 
rupted him. 

“You said you were looking down through the win- 
dow, that seems strange too. What was going on? 
What was he doing?” 

“My father was down there, and I had come there 
looking for him. I remember that my mother was at 
home sick ” 

“But what was my father doing that you should have 
so noticed him.” 

He must tell the truth, as she said, but he felt that 
the inevitable was closing in upon him, and looked 
wildly about for an escape. How numb his brain was 


•toelen patfter 


217 


that he could think of nothing to say which would 
satisfy her. It was in his mind to flee even as the 
guilty old man had fled; but he could not bring him- 
self to do it, it would be cowardly. He could not 
avoid her question, she had repeated it. 

“There was a fight in there, and ” 

“Was he in it?” 

“Yes, but ” 

“Was your father?” 

“Yes.” 

“Someone was hurt?” 

“My father was stabbed, so that he died after- 
wards.” 

“And he was one of them; oh, did he do it?” 

There was no answer to that, but there was no 
denial, and she read in his eye that it was the truth. 

She lay back then upon the sofa, motionless and her 
face deathly white, and Harry, thinking she had 
fainted ran to bring water and Mrs. Gray. Then 
after a great deal of confusion and excited running 
about of the landlady and the servant girls whom she 
had aroused, Helen seemed to revive, and saying that 
she was all right and wished to be left alone, Harry 
could do nothing but go home, wishing heartily 
enough that he had never left there that evening. 


CHAPTER XXI 


It is well that necessity urges us to labor. For sev- 
eral days Helen did not go to the store, the shock and 
pain of mind she had sustained had been severe and 
as a result she felt weak and indisposed. In her wak- 
ing hours her thought was centered upon her father, 
he was a criminal, an outcast from society, ever 
haunted, fleeing from a guilty conscience, drinking, she 
thought she could realize better why, now. Maybe, 
also, he was haunted by the men in blue. Harry 
had pursued him that night, she knew, and he might 
even now be instigating detectives and the police in 
the search. Somehow she hardly thought this prob- 
able. He had not seemed angry or revengeful and yet 
he might have only been acting this to her face. She 
actually thought this, and she sometimes sat moody 
and frowning as she pictured in her mind, her father 
brought to justice. She blamed herself greatly that 
she had given way to her grief on that night, so that 
she had given no word of entreaty against his going, 
and so that he would not now think her angry or at 
least hopeless of him. She pictured to herself over 
and over what she should have done. She should 
have taken him to his room. She should have shown 
him somehow that she still sympathized with and 
cared for him. Then on the morrow she could have 
218 


Ibelen parfeet 


219 


plead with him and encouraged him to try again. 
Though he had fallen he had not given up all hope or 
he would not have come back to her as he had — But 
now he was hopeless, yes, he must be desperate. He 
was liable to end his life. She felt she would do it if 
she were in his place. 

She had the servants buy some papers, and searched 
them through anxiously and yet fearfully. It seemed 
to her that certainly after that mad cry, and that 
desperate run, there must have come something as a 
desperate ending; but she found nothing. 

No; the misery locked up in that breast found its 
way to no newspaper. There was no call, no stir of a 
suicide, but there had burst into Heck’s saloon down 

on K street that same night a ghastly-faced, 

hoarse-voiced man, who had tried desperately to choke 
and drown his soul with drink. 

But now Helen could not lie still and think of her 
sorrow and regret. She had had a chance. She had 
not succeeded in reclaiming him, but she had tried, 
and she had shown him that she cared for him. He 
had had the choice of good and evil brought strongly 
before him and he had not chosen the good — he must 
suffer. 

The forenoon of the second day she spent mostly in 
prayer. He was a murderer, but yet that could not 
shut him from the grace of God. He was bound to 
drink, by a chain which seemingly human strength 
could not break. He was doubtless torn and dis- 
tressed by an awakened conscience, but peace and for- 
giveness could come for all that, and oh! she peti- 


220 


Ibelen patftet 


tioned that it might, that this flight might bring him 
to religion and not back to his old habits. 

So feeling that his destiny was in the hands of God 
and himself, and greatly comforted, she moved the 
things from his room back into hers, leaving it bare as 
before — not without tears but with a softened grief 
and without rebellion of heart. 

Then, upon the following day, she took her place 
at the store. Harry’s face brightened up as she came 
in and at the first opportunity he tried to tell her he 
was sorry for the grief he had caused her, though in 
truth it had been unknowingly on his part. He tried 
to explain that he held no hatred toward her father. 
That he had not thought what he was doing when he 
had set out in pursuit of him, and that he did not 
intend to prosecute him. That the crime was com- 
mitted under the influence of liquor so that he was not 
so much accountable. 

He tried thus to comfort her, but it was a very deli- 
cate subject and there was little comfort in it, so that 
at the end he was not sure whether he had been wise 
in bringing it up at all. 

She seemed in no way resentful toward him. She 
acknowledged that the guilty man’s conscience and 
fears had been the cause of his flight more than any 
words or actions of Harry’s. She thanked him, while 
tears stood in her eyes, for his efforts to console and 
set her at ease. But yet the cold claminess of death 
seemed even yet to extend up to and separate them; 
the horror of murder had come overshadowing and 
cooling the brightness of interest and friendship. 


H^elen parfter 


221 


Harry had foreseen and feared this sensation. He 
had fought it on his part, he had tried and overcome 
it on hers, but yet as though it were the hand of fate 
their lives seemed to diverge and separate from that 
time. 

Why is it that one soul can feel the chill of another 
though words of anger be not spoken, though the eye 
seems not to have changed, nor the smiles to have 
diminished? By what hidden power does it so easily 
and effectually throw up a barrier against so close 
approach? 

That barrier, unseen and mysterious, had arisen 
between Helen and himself. Their greetings in the 
store came to be less frequent. He was invited no 
more to her room. He saw her at church each Sun- 
day. He spoke to her and talked with her. He 
sometimes walked with her to his corner upon Satur- 
day nights as they used to do. But all the time there 
was something between them, distrust, resentment, a 
feeling of illness at ease, antagonism, because of that 
old injury, or what — perhaps neither of them could 
have told, the warm sympathy, yea love, had been 
cruelly — not destroyed, not utterly quenched, but 
greatly diminished. Both felt in themselves and in 
the other not less plainly an invisible but strong 
reserve. 

So Helen seemed now to care little for any friend. 
She associated but little with the other clerks. They 
had ceased to tease her and paid but little attention to 
her. She performed her duties at the store steadily and 
seemingly more mechanicall}^ or more with a cold 


222 


ibelen iParf^er 


philosophy of endurance. She bore the heat uncom- 
plainingly and seemed unaffected by trouble or worry. 
She generally went immediately to her room from the 
store and seemed to be content to read or to sew in 
her little leisure time. Sometimes she went to a lec- 
ture or a musicale if it were suitable to her purse, and 
her attendance upon the church services was quite 
regular. Indeed she was living a somewhat apathetic 
but yet calm and satisfactory life, recognizing the 
great infinite Being above, feeling that she was per- 
haps thus doing his will, and caring little how long 
she should thus live if he saw fit to bring no change. 

There was, however, one thing that troubled her. 
So far as her father was concerned and so far as her 
power had been, she felt that she had done, or at least 
had tried to do her duty. But there was still her 
mother. 

The gospel of love had driven the hatred out of her 
heart. It had reconciled her and brought forgiveness. 
But her mother did not know it. She had done noth- 
ing as yet to show her her change in feeling. Maybe, 
though scarce likely, that mother’s heart was now ach- 
ing to hear the words of forgiveness and friendship. 
Maybe, disappointed by the vanity of the world, she 
might be led to higher things. Maybe she was sick 
and discouraged and badly in need of care and sym- 
pathy, and would rejoice if her daughter should return. 

It was because of these thoughts that she one even- 
ing stepped from the street-car in front of that cot- 
tage which she had left in anger. 

A flood of thoughts and recollections came sweeping 


Ibelen parser 


223 


over her. How familiar the house looked! She 
could imagine her mother, sitting in her room, read- 
ing some novel or working out some creation upon 
linen with her needle and silk, and perhaps her step- 
father sitting there, low-browed and sullen, poring 
over his paper and raising his voice now and then to 
make some remark or read some headline, as was his 
habit, and as she so well remembered him doing after 
that miserable night at the dance. 

Or perhaps company was still lingering inside and 
she could recall the animated, well-modulated tones 
and the silvery laughter as she had heard it so many 
times. Or maybe her mother was out somewhere. 
In either case it would be somewhat awkward for her. 
Well she must find out; and, advancing, she rang the 
bell. 

How long it seemed since she had entered that door! 
And now she is a shop girl. How she has changed 
since that time! She hears steps along the hall, a new 
girl comes to the door. 

“I want to see Mrs. Leigh, 1 haven’t a card.” 

“Oh, an’ shall I tell her your name is ?” 

“Tell her a young lady that used to know her wishes 
to see her,” replied Helen, and advancing into the hall 
she continued, “I will go on into the parlor,” which 
she did, leaving the surprised girl to explain to her 
mistress as how, whosoever she was she seemed to feel 
right at home. 

It was with a beating heart that Helen listened to 
the rustle of a dress and the approaching step of her 
mother, and she breathed a prayer for courage. 


224 


Ibelen patfeet 


A moment and she stood in the doorway, a little 
older yet the same woman, no glad welcoming, but 
the expression of expected pleasure on her face chang- 
ing to angered surprise. 

“Mother, I have come back,” Helen cried, rising to 
her feet. 

“Oh, the girl said you was making yourself at 
home.” 

“Yes, everything seemed so natural I came right in 
here.” 

“Why did you come back; get starved out?” and a 
sneering smile formed on her lips. 

“No, I am getting along all right; I don’t get very 
big wages, but ” 

“Did you think you would come back and take your 
place in society again?” interrupted the mother coldly. 

“No, I don’t want to, I am among better society,” 
replied Helen calmly. 

“What!” cried the mother, betrayed from her cold- 
ness, “where are you staying?” 

“At Mrs. Gray’s on street.” 

“Pshaw, there’s no society there.” 

“The people who are my friends belong to the 

Methodist church over on avenue, and they are 

the nicest people I ever saw.” 

“So you’re a Methodist.” And that exasperating 
smile again came to her face. “Well, I’m glad you 
like them.” 

“Yes, I like them,” repeated Helen, her face flush- 
ing, “and I can tell you that their religion is — well 
that’s the best way to live, I never enjoyed life as I 


Ibelen parser 


225 


have since I joined the church, and then too you’re 
ready to die.” No one knows what an effort it cost 
for this young girl to calmly speak these words, when 
that same look on her mother’s face a short year 
before would have crazed her with passion. 

“Pshaw,” was the response, “is that what you came 
to tell me?” 

“Yes — you taught me there was nothing in religion 
and I wanted to tell you that I have found there is 
— I — I used to hate you but I don’t any more.” 

“You want to make up then, and come home, is the 
sum of it all.” 

“No, I don’t want to come home — I’m better off” — 
biting her lips because of the implied selfishness of her 
motive. Could she not say something to show that 
she was not seeking to attain her old position, in a 
cloak of religious penitence. “I would not come 
home, I say, but I would like to be a friend of yours — 
you need not recognize me as a daughter. I just want 
you to know that I haven’t anything against you and 
don’t want you to have against me.” 

The look on Mrs. Leigh’s face was that of incredulity 
and, advancing from the doorway where she had all 
the time been standing to the middle of the room, she 
said, “If I’d met you at the door to-night, you’d 
never have come inside, but as you were in, I’ve heard 
what you had to say. You claim you don’t want to 
come back home, and it’s a good thing, because it’s 
impossible. Clarence has— don’t like you, and gave 
orders that you should never come inside the door, and 
it would be better if you leave before he comes. If 


526 


Ibeien iparfeer 


you need money Tli give you some,” and she held out 
a bill as she would have to any mendicant. 

“No,” said Helen, putting her hands behind her, 
“I do not want money, but, mother, you will forgive 
me for the way I used to talk and act, — we will be 
friends,” she pleaded. 

“We will be neither friends nor enemies, because 
there will be no intercourse between us. I have nothing 
against you,” was the steadily spoken answer. “You 
must go now.” And Helen knew the interview was 
at an end and departed. 

What the feelings of the mother were as she thus 
sent away her daughter no one could tell. She seemed 
cold and formal, and unmoved, except for a fleeting 
look of surprised admiration as Helen had with such 
dignity and grace drawn back from the proffered 
money. She had said, “I have nothing against you,” 
but in a tone that showed no warm forgiveness, but 
only that time had changed anger and hatred into cold 
apathy. 

So it was with an aching heart that Helen left her; 
and yet she had dared hope for nothing better. She 
had obeyed and quieted that impulse within her — she 
had asked and given forgiveness and had controlled 
anger. And thus satisfied she returned quietly to 
Mrs. Gray’s. 


CHAPTER XXII 


The life of the shop girl is hard. The never-ceasing 
din and chatter is an irritant to the nerves; the con- 
finement and close, insipid, lifeless air of the store 
brings the pallid, colorless face; the monotony and 
hopelessness of change, enervates; the unending strain 
of politeness and of answering countless questions, the 
effort to overcome or humor the multitudinous whims 
and caprices, drains the energy and vitality from the 
body. 

Then, when the sweltering hot days of August 
come, seemingly more intense in their heat than the 
long midsummer that has already so run down the 
overworked girls; then in the unrelieved glare and 
reflected heat, in the humidity and impure air of the 
store and street, do they envy you who have the breeze 
and the freshness of the country, more than they do 
those who are rich and famous. 

This time had come and with especial fierceness it 
seemed. Seven of the girls were prostrated by the 
heat, and at last Helen was forced to give up and go 
home. She did not faint as some of the girls had, but 
she declared that if she remained she would die. Her 
face was flushed and red, her temples were throbbing, 
her breath came quickly and she seemed thoroughly 
exhausted. 

So they took her to her room — it had been only by 
227 


228 


Ibelen parftet 


force of will that she had left it that morning; — but 
she did not improve and the doctor ordered that she 
be taken to a hospital for he saw that the deadly 
typhoid had fastened itself upon her. 

There she rapidly sank into unconsciousness, and 
lay hovering between life and death, sometimes talk- 
ing wildly of the store — of Johnny Oleson — of Eva 
Black — of her old life. She was dancing and the 
music seemed so fast — how tired she was; and then the 
gentle nurse would hold the waving, tremulous hands 
and stroke the fevered forehead, smoothing again and 
again the tossed coverlids. 

And sometimes she lay so quiet that it would seem 
that eternal unconsciousness had come upon her; but 
nature and the doctors conquered and the wandering, 
unsettled brain began to brighten and clear, the fever 
to subside and the wasted, helpless body to recuper- 
ate. 

And then Harry, who had come each day to inquire 
of her, could stand at the door and look in for a few 
minutes; and she, lieing with her thin, white face 
outlined against her dark curling hair — looking for all 
the world like an angel — would turn at the sound of 
his voice, and smile and tell him she was better. Then 
one Sunday afternoon he was permitted to sit by her 
bed a half hour, while the nurse rested, and he took her 
white hand in his and stroked it and even pressed it to 
his lips, while they talked of the time when she would 
be well again. How short the minutes seemed — they 
had only begun to talk when the nurse came back and 
he must go— but still he was very glad for those min- 


t>elen parfter 


22C) 

utes, for there had seemed to come back to them as 
they had talked, the old undiminished sympathy. 
Time had served to deaden the emotions of horror and 
distress stirred up by the discovery of this black crime 
which of all things is most awesome and most black, 
but it had seemed also to be setting its seal upon the 
young lives, saying with an unpleasant undeniable 
power: You are separate, blood has flowed between; 
until suffering and weakness had come on one side, 
and anxiety and a deeper sympathy on the other. 
Time had almost vanished from one life: as the soul 
slipped so nearly from its grasp it had seemed to elude 
the old rankling injury and the old embarrassing 
scars of the past, and it could stand out again with 
undiminished and unhampered powers. 

With great joy Harry felt this. He read in her 
eyes the absence of the uneasiness and almost distrust 
that he had seen there lately. He listened to the sil- 
very voice, recognizing even in its weakness that it 
was again flowing smoothly, unruffled by the cold 
wind of doubt; he noted with a thrill as he took her 
hand that lay so contentedly in his, that there was not 
the unpleasant twitch nor the nervous passiveness 
which, in spite of us, will betray our feelings. He 
had said good-bye gladly and had gone out into the 
sunshine, feeling that it had never seemed so bright 
and that the streets had never seemed so full of beauty 
and interest. 

At last the day came when Helen, pronounced well, 
was dismissed from that world of the sick and help- 
less, and of quietness and patience, to the great out- 


230 


Ibelen parher 


side world of hurry and thoughtlessness. It was with 
something of regret that she took the last look about 
the little room and said good-bye to some of the other 
sufferers with whom she had lately become acquainted. 
Then the nurse, to whom she had become greatly 
attached, inquired as to whether she had friends or 
relatives to whom she could go, and was answered in 
the negative, but Helen told her that she had a little 
room and that she thought she could get her old posi- 
tion back again. The nurse had kindly hoped that 
this would be so and had given Helen a small sum of 
money from her own slender store, then giving her 
hand a last impulsive pressure between both of her’s, 
had spoken a quiet good-bye and turned back to 
her own life of quietness and self-sacrifice, leaving 
Helen not a little heartened by her kindness and 
interest. 

She took a car and alighted within a few blocks of 
the store. She must see at once about her place. 
Harry had said that he thought she could get it again 
but still he did not know. What if she couldn’t? But 
she did not allow herself to think about that. She 
was drawing in great breaths of air and looking about 
at the crowd with enjoyment and with some wonder 
as she had used to do. They seemed all so busy. 
None had missed her — she was as one dead and come 
to life again. But what did they care; verily, she 
thought with a smile, if one were resurrected from the 
dead they would not believe. 

She entered with some awe, as one will into a place 
that was once familiar, and made her way to 


Ibeien patfeet 


231 

the manager’s office. He was busy but at length 
found time to inquire what she wanted. Upon asking 
for her old place he replied somewhat crossly that he 
had hired another girl and there was no vacancy. She 
then asked if there wasn’t any sort of a place for her 
in one of the other departments; but he said no, the 
store was overrun with girls and he was sorry but he 
could not give her anything. As she turned to go he, 
evidently a little ashamed of himself, asked in a 
different tone as to her recovery and said he hoped 
she would soon find a position. He had evidently 
been worried about something for he was usually polite 
and interested, especially in the case of old employ- 
ees. But, be that as it may, Helen saw that it was of 
no use for her to look for a position from him, and 
with a pang of dismay and disappointment she made 
her way out into the salesroom. There was Henry 
Jones as natural as life, showing his neckties, with 
those same little smirks and smiles; there was little 
May Kiser showing her handkerchiefs and Jessie 
Barlow standing just as she had six weeks before; 
there was Jack Worth too. Eva Black was nowhere 
to be seen nor was Cora Childs. Ah, death had come 
to the one and the other had returned to the country 
home from which she came. And there was Harry 
Spencer amongst his shoes, showing, trying on and 
changing box calfs, patent leathers, tans, cordovans, 
congress and laces. Busy as ever, all of them. She 
did not see how they could have stood it all this time 
— it seemed at least a year since she had left. There 
was a girl whom she had never seen before in her 


232 


U^elen patfeer 


place, handling the ribbons and there were other new 
faces. 

Pushing in with the crowd she spoke briefly to sev- 
eral of the old clerks with whom she had been most 
intimate, until she came to Harry’s department. He 
was busily engaged in tightening some gaiters about 
the ankles of a large, aristocratic-looking woman, who 
sat glaring down upon him through her glasses with a 
wrinkle of haughty displeasure and impatience upon 
her forehead, and Helen could not help but laugh at 
the start he gave when, happening to glance up for 
a moment, he saw her. Without any ado he left the 
old lady to stare at the floor and came and spoke to 
her, congratulating her on her recovery, saying in a 
tone that brought the color to her cheeks that she 
looked real well and that he was overjoyed to see her. 
She told him that she could not get her place again, 
at which his face lengthened visibly, but he had no 
further time to talk with her for the old lady was 
angrily looking about for the manager and there were 
other customers waiting, so back to his task he went 
hoping for another word with her presently. 

But no interval of leisure came and at last, as he 
glanced up, he saw with a sinking heart and with a 
feeling of hatred against the insensible foot coverings 
and especially against that obnoxious old woman, that 
she was gone. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Helen had gone to Mrs. Gray’s, but had been dumb- 
founded to find it Mrs. Gray’s no longer. The house 
was now kept by an untidy, florid-faced Irish woman, 
who informed her that Mrs. Gray had “cleared out 
somewhere, and without payin’ off her rint too, but 
now that the house was kept by hirself, as was a 
respectable, honest woman, she could get a clean, 
beautiful back room for three dollars and a half, or 
one to the front, and larger, for five; an’ fer her board 
she could eat at her tables for two dollars and a half.’’ 

She was proceeding to volubly express the excel- 
lence of her fare when Helen interrupted and asked 
about her old room and her furniture. 

When at last the new landlady had comprehended 
what was meant she was profuse in her exclamations 
of surprise and anger against that shameful thing that 
“she would so chate a poor girl,’’ and she earnestly 
pleaded her ignorance of such furniture and belongings 
having ever existed. 

“Why didn’t Mrs. Gray store them for me,’’ cried 
Helen aghast. “Harry — I mean— a person told me 
when I was sick that she was storing them for me and 
that she expected me to come back into my room 
again as soon as I was well.’’ 

“A divil a cent does she care if you come into any 
room alive or well I’m a thinking, an’ as fer storin’ 

233 


234 


ir^elen patl^er 


your fixin’s I’ve a mind to think she stored them all in 
her pocket-book, fer the house wuz empty of the last 
stick of ’em,” and as proof she took Helen to the 
room and showed her it, truly enough, changed and 
refurnished and reoccupied. 

Suddenly, however, as Helen was gazing about her 
in blank dismay, she clapped her great hands together 
and cried out that “the owner must ’ave got them, she 
wint away a-oweing him an’ he took ’em thinking 
they wer’ her’s.” Yes she was sure that must have 
been the way of it, and if she would just go and see 
him and tell him how it was he would surely give 
them back to her, and then when she had them once 
back she must come and stay with her, she had another 
little room empty just across the hall an’ four doors 
down an’ she would make it a little cheaper to her for 
the trouble she had been in with that other dishonest 
thing. 

So, a little reassured and somewhat suspicious of 
this volatile old woman, Helen took the address of the 
owner, which was in a different part of the city, and 
set out immediately to find him. This she succeeded 
in doing after some trouble, but upon stating her 
errand the man became very wrathy and swore that he 
knew nothing of the matter, and, speaking of Mrs. 
Gray with an oath, said that she had gone, nobody 
knew where, and if she had left anything of value 
behind her he had had the bad luck not to find it. 

Then, upon further queries from Helen, he began to 
grow insulting in his language and so she left him, 
feeling, as she had never felt before, utter hopeless- 


ibelen parftet 


235 


ness and dismay. She was alone, no friend to help 
her. She thought of Harry Spencer, he would help 
her if he could, so would some of the other clerks, per- 
haps. And there were her friends in the church, but 
they could not give her what she needed most, 
employment, and, independent as she had always 
been, she shrank from the thought of asking their aid. 
However, she knew that she need not starve. She 
would look for occupation but if she could not find it 
she would go to them; and this thought served to com- 
fort her a little. 

She had no further clue to aid her in searching for 
her goods. She realized that it would have been easy 
for either of the three — the two landladies or the owner 
— to have made off with them, and she believed any of 
them capable of doing it with a good grace, and so in 
her despair, she had already given up hope of finding 
them. It was even now dark, she was in a strange 
part of the city and had eaten no supper. But for this 
last she did not care, she felt that she could not eat 
anyhow. However, she bought a cup of coffee at a 
sort of lunch stand and had started to walk back, to 
save carfare, when the thought came to her. Why 
should she? She was very tired, it would be no extra 
pleasure to lodge under the roof of the Irishwoman — 
though that had for a long time been a home to her it 
was now ho more so than any of these places she was 
passing, and then, too, the rates there for a single 
night and a meal would be too high for her straitened 
circumstances. 

She stopped in the shadow of a building and 


236 


t»elen parftet 


counted over her money. With a queer feeling she 
realized that she had never been so poor. She 
thought of the past with a grim smile: once so rich 
and careless, then at school careless and happy, then 
in the store; that had been the best part of her life. 
But what of the present? What did God mean her to do? 
But even with the thought of the higher Being, fears 
were struggling. Would she need to go hungry, 
would this poverty, this miserable deadening lack 
which she had witnessed in some parts of the city — 
always with a shudder — be her lot? Would she need 
to live friendless and — No, she had friends — what 
was she thinking of. It was foolish in her to be so 
weak — but she was so tired. 

She aroused herself with an effort. Two rough- 
looking young men had been watching her, and now 
they were coming toward her. She stepped out into 
the light and walked rapidly down the street until she 
had lost them in the crowd. Then, looking about, she 
found a house where she might stay very cheaply and, 
buying a paper, went to the miserable little room 
allotted to her. 

There she sat until midnight studying the advertise- 
ments, selecting those that seemed at all suitable and 
that were not at too great a distance — and trembling 
with fear at the sounds of revelry and commotion 
about her. For she found that the house was not of a 
very good reputation. There were a good many rough 
men about, and some girls, brazen and grinning. She 
could hear the shouts, the stamping of feet and the 
coarse oaths of the former, mingled with shrill grat- 


Ibelen iparftet 


237 


ing laughter and quarrelsome bantering voices of the 
gentler sex. Then at times someone would scrape 
upon an' old violin and there would be singing and 
shuffling of feet so that she knew they were dancing. 
But at last they began to quiet down, and after look- 
ing again to see that h .‘;* door was fastened, and hav- 
ing set the chairs and all the movable furniture against 
it, she ventured to go to sleep, and in the morning was 
glad to get away unharmed. 

She found a restaurant near, where she ate a light 
breakfast, and then started out in her quest of work. 
Su’rely she would find some. Morning had brought 
some hope as it always does. The morning had 
opened misty and cloudy, with a pleasant breeze from 
the lake, and the sun peeping out now and then, just 
to show people that it still existed; and once, sitting 
in a broad window seat in an upstairs offlce, waiting 
to see the proprietor, she had become absorbed in 
looking out upon a distant part of the city where the 
sun had seemed to focus itself like a great searchlight 
and for the time forgot where and what she was. 

But gradually her failures and disappointments were 
driving away all tendencies toward day dreams or the 
pleasures of sight-seeing. One can, if one is light- 
hearted and determined and has some courage, pass 
over the first, and the second, and the third, maybe, 
with only an exclamation of displeasure, or a back- 
ward glance of scorn, but after that we go out with a 
sigh or in silence and trudge away doggedly, with 
hope lagging sadly behind — spurring ahead with a 
rush now and then, but at a rebuff dropping listlessly 


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behind again, and leaving to necessity or duty the 
leading of the way. 

Helen had arranged to go to the stores first, prefer- 
ring to clerk but invariably it seemed that the vacan- 
cies had been filled just before she came or that the 
girl who came in just before her was chosen, and she 
wondered to herself how she had come to lose that 
provoking quarter of an hour that seemed to stand 
between her and success, or if it were possible in any 
way to make it up. The city seemed to be overrun, as 
her old employer had said, with girls, and there were 
so many kinds, some bold and seemingly careless — 
tossing their heads and quarrelling as they waited, 
handling office belongings carelessly, roasting unmer- 
cifully any office boy who must needs make his 
appearance, and when informed that their services are 
not needed, going out savagely scratching their boots 
on the floor and muttering unkind things about the 
proprietor in semi-audible tones. Others with thin, 
peaked faces, and clothes from which care had failed 
to erase all evidence of much service, sitting quietly, 
fixing their eyes steadily upon the man as ne came in, 
answering the questions just as steadily, and if refused 
going out as calmly as though this was a part of her 
da3^’s duties, and something to which she was used; or 
if, perchance, she was accepted her eyes would 
brighten in a way you would not have thought of, and 
she would invariably begin to take off her hat and to 
look about for a peg on which to hang it, with a sigh 
as though her work was done and she could rest. 

And there were still others who were new in the citv, 


Ibelen parfeet 


239 


now and then one just from the country, ridiculed and 
yet secretly admired for her round, fresh-hued cheeks 
and her graceful, conscious manners; or one who had 
been compelled by some turn of fate to leave a quiet 
home and push in with a crowd which she had always 
before been taught to avoid; and these would sit, 
shocked at the manners of the rougher ones, and at 
the manager’s questions would flush and stammer con- 
fusedly, and if he said no, would give a big gulp of 
disappointment, or if their hopes had been too high, 
would fumble awkwardly at the door as they went out 
because of the blinding tears, and if he said yes, would 
look about upon the rejected ones with such an uncon- 
scious air of condescension and triumph, mingled with 
pity, that only the worst ones could help but be glad 
with her, and they would be furious. 

Then Helen saw one or two who evidently had come 
from the higher air of society, the breath of which 
still clung to their richer garments. One had sat, dis- 
dainful of her surroundings, reading a letter which 
seemed unpleasant, bringing a frown again and again 
to her proud but handsome face. She had hardly 
looked at the manager and when, to the surprise of 
everybody else, he offered her the place, she accepted 
condescendingly as though conferring a favor. An- 
other, a slight, blue-eyed girl, with curling yellow 
hair, attired in a perfect-fitting gray costume and with 
costly rings upon her fingers, seemed much interested 
in the other applicants and won the hearts of all by 
her smile and quiet but witty answer to a rough joke 
aimed at her by an ignorant uncultured rival, who did 


240 


Ibelen Parker 


not know good manners. She did not get the place 
sought for and though evidently disappointed bowed 
with perhaps the same pleasant graceful little bow 
with which she had been wont to receive company or 
accept of a dance, and to Helen this was more pathetic 
than tears. She wondered what could have come 
between this girl and her old position, a drunken ball, 
a hated step-father, her pride — hardly any of these. 
Whatever it was she thought it must have been unjust, 
and she pitied the girl, feeling at the same time that 
she hungered to be acquainted with her, to be friends 
with her. What a friend she would make! She won- 
dered at herself for feeling so. She had only barely 
spoken to her as she went out, trying to offer a word 
of sympathy and noting again that little smile that 
somehow seemed so pleasant. She knew nothing of 
her, but yet she hurried to the sidewalk and watched 
her walk quickly away, with a strange regret at her 
heart. Maybe we, when in another world, look down 
upon our path in life and see, without regret, where 
we have missed a friend, or where walking for a dis- 
tance side by side with one whose love would have 
been as gold to us, we have been unable or else 
neglected to stretch out our hand to them — maybe we 
shall be wiser then, and will have more friends to 
cheer us. 

But now Helen had applied at all of the stores 
unsuccessfully and she stopped to look over the other 
places on her list. What a mixed lot they were; how 
she hated to think of accepting some of them; but she 
must, and must will bear no arguing. She ate her 


fcelen patfeet 


24 1 

dinner at another restaurant, thinking, with a grim 
smile, that if this kept up she could give a tourist 
pointers on where and what to eat. 

Then she started out and at the second place was 
offered a position in an office to do light work, but at 
wages that would have been impossible for her to live 
on. 

On declining it on this ground, she was offered more 
upon conditions that brought the flush of shame and 
indignation to her cheeks and she hurriedly left the 
establishment, hearing, as she did so, the amused 
laugh of the man who had wanted to hire a girl. 

She was disgusted with searching as one is nauseated 
with what has made him sick. She had, during the 
morning, passed through districts of shame, drunken 
men had called after her, she had stood insolent stares 
in the street cars, had heard floor walkers and clerks 
remark as she passed of her beauty; but this last was 
hard to be born. Her body, enfeebled by disease was 
aching with weariness, her spirits were crushed and 
beaten down by the constant disappointment of the 
morning, and hope seemed to have slunk in the back- 
ground, as it will unless strengthened by reinforce- 
ments, and so she said to herself she would go no 
farther. 

Luckily, one of the city parks was not far distant 
and she made her way to it and dropped into one of 
the seats. What a path she had made over the city 
that day! Once she had been within a few blocks of 
the old familiar store, and had almost gone over to 
see Harry, but she had been trying then to make up 


242 


Ibelen parbet 


that foolish fifteen minutes and was afraid if she 
stopped she would lose the next place. Then she had 
gone on and fate had seemed to lead her farther by 
each tantalizing elusive prize until now she was miles 
away from him and she could only wish in vain that 
she had gone. 

How he would have been shocked if he had known 
of her struggles, insults and disappointments that day; 
how he would strive if he could be with her to cheer 
her; how well he always talked, how easily and confi- 
dently did he always bring to her remembrance that 
Friend who was the joint friend of them both. As she 
thought of this, tears came to her eyes and the quiet 
cry that followed did her good. Something hard 
within her softened, so that when she dried her eyes 
again her resentment at the world was gone and she 
looked about her at the beauty with enjoyment. 

People were coming to the park on bicycles, on 
horseback and in carriages, and for a long time she 
watched them with interest, as they laughed and 
chatted and flirted, and sighed, and exclaimed at the 
beauty about them. For a time she became one of 
them and forgot her miserable self, only that she was 
resting and that it seemed very delightful. 

But the approach of evening brought her back to 
herself and she bravely set out again. It was an 
unfavorable time, for people were beginning to think 
about their suppers, but still one cannot tell when one 
will be lucky, and after all there is some excitement 
in such a chase such as spurs the gold-seeker from one 
bluff to another; and then, against his will almost, to 


Ibelen patfeer 


243 


another and another; and Helen, emerging slowly and 
dejectedly from one place would gradually quicken her 
pace as she would fix in her mind some place that 
might be the place for which she had sought all day, 
or if the next place on her list was at a distance she 
would perhaps stand undecided until some car came 
clanging along and then would step aboard and relin- 
quish to the conductor with a little gasp another of 
those little coins which were becoming more and more 
precious to her as they became fewer. 

Into factories, stores and workshops she had gone 
that day and had even applied at a restaurant where a 
sign in the window donated the fact that they lacked 
a dishwasher, but once inside she had wished herself 
out, and had not been disappointed when the head 
cook looked sourly at her and told her she was not 
strong enough and was too high falutin’ for such work, 
which she did not try to deny. She had also gone into 
one place where they needed a stenographer, but, upon 
being shown the work, admitted that she could not do 
it. The man had evidently been touched by her white 
face and expression of weariness as she said this for he 
spoke very kindly to her and offering her some fruit 
from his desk told her of a woolen and knitting fac- 
tory across the block which often needed hands, and 
he even sat down and wrote a line to the manager for 
her and gave her careful directions how to find him, 
regretting that she should have to do such work and 
yet glad to assist her to it if it were necessary. 

Helen thanked him and went out into the street 
undecided, she had vowed that this was to be her last 


244 


Ibelen parfeet 


place and yet another had turned up seemingly only 
to beckon to and mock her. It was almost dark and the 
street looked so poor — it was probably dangerous too 
for a girl unattended — but she had, earlier in the day, 
forcibly put away her fear and that did not bother her 
so much as dread of another disappointment. The 
man had probably left and she could not see him, she 
had said to herself before. Now only this once should 
she risk being struck again as it were, another blow, 
and then rest. Another glance at the paper in her 
hand decided her. She would go. Quickening her 
steps she presented herself at the office, and the man, 
after alternately looking at her and the paper she had 
presented, three or four times, offered her a position 
at four dollars a week. 

This was nothing big, but Helen accepted it at once 
and without questions. Fate had seemed to laugh at 
her all day, but now she could laugh at fate, she 
thought. She inquired where she might find a room 
for the night, and the man, after looking sharply at 
her as though trying to decide her social position and 
tastes, told her of a place three blocks away, not very 
good, but respectable enough. 

Helen thanked him and started mechanically away, 
just as if she was still hunting a place, she told her- 
self; and at last, stumbling and trembling from weak- 
ness she reached the cheap hotel to which she had 
been directed and sinking into the first chair in the 
office told the old woman in charge that she must have 
a room. 

Thinking that if she must, she must, and ascertain- 


l^elen parfeet 


245 


ing beyond doubt that she had some money, the land- 
lady led the way up a dingy, crooked flight of stairs, 
and lighted a greasy, undersized oil lamp for her in 
one of the rooms. 

Helen gave her directions to wake her in the morning 
and then sat down upon the bed. The only chair in 
the room was occupied by the sputtering lamp, there 
was a fragment of rag carpet in front of the bed, and 
the bed looked as though it had been made up by a 
one-armed man. A chimney hole gaped black and 
fierce at the foot of the bed. These things she noted 
carelessly, they seemed to bother her less than they 
would have girls who had never known plush carpets, 
hand paintings, china cases or bamboo and silk 
draught screens. She was wondering where she was, 
for in her wandering about she had again lost herself. 

She was set down again as though from the sky, in a 
new situation — she must make new friends and a new 
home; she must adjust herself to different circum- 
stances. What the near future would bring forth was 
a conjecture too great for her tired brain to grapple 
with. Presently she was thinking of her old friends, 
the old room faded from before her eyes, and then she 
ceased to think, and presently was startled by the 
shrieking voice of the old woman — three steps below 
her door. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


As she went down to her work, daylight, revealing 
the neighborhood in its true light, brought her some- 
thing of a feeling of dismay. The buildings were old 
and dilapidated, covered with the smoke and grime of 
years. Refuse lay unheeded in the narrow streets and 
choked the alleys; the air was blackened and clouded 
by great volumes of smoke pouring from the factory 
stacks, and piles of cinders and slack lay in unsightly 
heaps about the engine-house doors and in corners of 
vacant lots. 

The inhabitants were, as she saw them, ignorant, 
shiftless and poverty-stricken. Children were begin- 
ning to swarm like bees out of an old tenement, as she 
passed it, tousle-headed, ragged, and with a guttural, 
rough, mixed speech acquired from their democratic 
and cosmopolitan association with representatives of 
foreign nations; and as their eyes caught sight of 
Helen they seemed invariably to become oblivious of all 
else, and would stand transfixed in amusing attitudes 
gazing after her. 

Now Helen realized for the first time why the man 
at the knitting works had looked so intently at her, for 
this morning everyone she passed seemed to have just 
such a gaze after her. Men came hurrying out of 
their homes with dinner pails on their arms, and pipes 
in their mouths and at sight of her would whirl about 
246 


Ibelen parfeet 


247 


and walk backwards, staring after her, clattering their 
pails, and even forgetting for the moment the useful- 
ness and comfort of the pipes. Women engaged in 
their morning duties came to the doors and stood for 
a spell watching her. One, an Irish woman with a 
faded green skirt and a red waist surmounted by a ban- 
danna handkerchief, was evidently very angry, and 
could be easily heard venting her ill humor on some 
one inside her domicile. Chancing to step outside for 
something she did not deem it necessary to interrupt 
her remarks, but only raised her voice the louder that 
they should not be lost upon their object, when she 
became conscious of Helen’s eyes turned upon her and 
stopped with such ludicrous shortness that the last 
word was no word at all. 

Then, in a moment, the head of the funniest little 
old Irishman was outlined in the window, looking 
slyly around the casement for the cause of this sudden 
and unnatural and possibly ominous silence, blinking 
his eyes and dodging his head back at sight of his 
mate outside, so like a monkey that Helen had to turn 
her face away and laugh. 

A good many girls were coming from the side 
streets to the works, and they would stare at her and 
make remarks openly to each other or to themselves 
and with proper appreciation of the use and abuse of 
slang. The street was not used to having a girl such 
as she walk unattended and quietly, with a matter-of- 
course air, down its length. They expected her, if 
she came at all, to drive hurriedly through in a car- 
riage, or at least to have an escort, and to look about 


24S 


Ibelen patfeet 


with disgust, and to lift her skirts and speak of how 
terrible it was to see such houses and such streets. 

They did not speak to Helen. There was a great 
gulf between them, they were afraid of her; she must 
show them she was of the same composition, and 
worthy — in their way of looking at it — of their talk. 
She noticed this and was also conscious of the rude, 
and unflattering remarks of those about her and natu- 
rally felt sore at heart, but outwardly she showed no 
sign. Graceful, self-possessed, she was queen among 
these girls and she knew it; and yet she did not let 
this knowledge, which was the most hateful thing to 
the girls about her, show itself upon her face, but 
moved about amongst them, meeting their eyes, smil- 
ing as they laughed at some rough joke, and trying 
with what tact and unobtrusiveness she could, to be 
friendly with them. 

She was wondering to herself how long she would 
be with them and saying to herself it would be only a 
little while, but at the same time with the skill of an 
actor and with the appreciation and knowledge of 
human character that she had, she was trying to 
disarm their suspicions and overthrow their natural 
enmity 

When they went in to work, she watched them with 
amusement as they put on extra flourishes for her bene- 
fit, and then in their conscious anxiety doing less well 
than in their usual mechanical unthinking performance 
of duty, they gradually subsided into their usual man- 
ner and ignored her. An overseer came to show her 
her duty which she found required quite a little dex- 


Ibelen parUer 


249 


terity coupled with a great deal of patience and pains- 
taking, so that her mind was fully occupied with her 
work, and she had almost forgotten them, when her 
friend came and spoke to her. 

This friend to be, was no other than Sadie Maguire, 
or “Sade,” as the girls called her, from the fact that 
she had such a good-natured grin, “such a reddy 
smile,'* they explained afterwards to Helen; a mag- 
nificent specimen of a young woman, Irish by descent, 
tall, strongly built, with regular features, a good, 
freckled complexion and dark, red-tinted hair, care- 
less in the manner of dress, but good-hearted, quick- 
tempered, witty, demonstrative toward friends and 
fierce toward enemies. 

Helen had noticed her in the morning at a little dis- 
tance down the line, and had caught her several times 
regarding her — taking her in, as the saying was — but 
had forgotten her until at a particularly trying time in 
her work she felt a touch upon her arm and looking up 
saw it was Sadie. 

“Go watch my machine,” she said; “go ahead, the 
boss won’t see you, he don’t care anyhow,” and 
Helen, a little confused by her sudden appearance, 
slipped off her stool and ran to watch the other’s click- 
ing machine without a word. Then presently Sade 
beckoned her back and gave her some needful direc- 
tions a little roughly, for she was not to show herself 
soft on any account before the others, and listening to 
her thanks with a gesture of contempt went back to 
her work as though nothing had happened. 

Helen had caught her fancy and she had ventured 


250 


l&elenjparftet 


this far in proof of it; but the next move was to come 
from Helen, and should Helen hold herself aloof or 
fail to meet her notions of etiquette, she would go no 
farther — she had her pride, and she had her ideas 
about making friends. 

And this condition Helen met with a success that 
was not due to studied forms, or could not have been 
so well by long thought and deep planning, as by the 
simple wish in her friendless state to gain a friend, 
and by the natural sympathy and admiration for one 
whom she recognized as her equal in a different class 
of society. 

When the hum of the machinery had stopped at 
noon the girls ran for their lunch baskets and carried 
them to the windows where they proceeded to eat the 
contents, and at the same time find amusement in 
watching passers-by and exchanging words with a 
group of young men who had come out of the building 
below them, or with the girls in the windows of rival 
sections. 

Sade had seated herself upon the end of a table 
near one of the windows, with her basket in front of 
her, and Helen immediately made her way to her 
and, sitting down beside her, spread out her lunch, 
which consisted mostl)^ of some fruit and cookies she 
had bought. 

Then she began to speak of the machinery, and of 
the boss and presently reached over and took a piece 
of bread from “Sade’s” basket, while she was glancing 
out of the window, pressing a pear stealthily in its 
place, and jerking her hand away when she saw she 


Ibelen parser 


251 


was detected, which caused them both to laugh; and 
before they w'ent back to work they were friends 

The hours of the afternoon dragged through slowly 
for her. Her limbs were stiff and weary from the con- 
tinual and unaccustomed walking of the day before, 
and her back and arms were tired and muscles twitch- 
ing from the work she was doing. When at last the 
hum of work ceased and she was drawn out amongst 
the tide of departing humanity, feeling the rude jam- 
ming and pushing, hearing the coarse laughter and 
ribald jests, seeing the unconcern, the want of shame, 
the ignorance, the carelessness, of those about her, the 
brave heart in her almost grave way and she was 
tempted to cr}^ 

Where should she go? The hands were going by in 
groups of two’s and three’s to their homes — she had 
no home, the utter loneliness of her position was 
pressing itself upon her with crushing force. Where 
could she go? She had only a silver dollar in her pos- 
session and, poor as was the room she had had the 
night before she could not stay there — indeed, she did 
not see how she could live a week anywhere on that 
amount — and she would not get her pay for a week. 
Harry Spencer came to her thoughts. She must go to 
him after all; he would not take advantage of her 
position. But must she give up her place after so long 
a search? What would the man think of her? Maybe 
he would advance her some money rather than have 
her quit. She would go and see; she must save part 
of her dollar at all hazards so that if the worst came 
to the worst she could get away from this place. 


252 


ibelen patfeer 


But Helen had a friend. Sade, stalking home at 
the head of her little group, had been glancing back 
unusually often, so that her companions had been ask- 
ing her where “Red” was, anyhow; they couldn’t see 
him. 

Their efforts to tease her, however, were only met 
by an exclamation more forcible than polite and she 
presently stopped altogether. Her eyes were not 
attracted this time by any masculine spark, but by the 
slight, lithesome, well-dressed figure, in the distance, 
appealing to her because of its very difference from 
its surroundings and awakening interest, if not sym- 
pathy, because of its slightness and seeming helpless- 
ness. 

After a moment’s stare she lined up the waiting 
group, just as though they were a squad of soldiers, 
and she captain, and gave them the following orders 
in quick succession: “Attention,” “Present Arms,” 
“Straighten up y’r backs,” “Step out lively, now’n 
don’t let y’r feet get behind you,” “March,” and, as 
they started on with exaggerated steps, and unduly 
straightened backs, she watched them with that broad 
smile on her face, that seemed to come so naturally, 
and to lighten and brighten it so much, and then, she 
turned back. 

“Where you goin’?” she asked, unceremoniously, of 
Helen. 

“I was — I thought I would go back and see Mr. 
Jones,” Helen answered. 

“Well, Mr. Jones went away — I saw him go.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry; I wish I’d have thought sooner to 


Tbelen patfter 


253 


speak to him, — I guess, then. I’ll have to quit. 
Maybe I won’t see you again.” 

‘‘Quit? — what are you givin’ me? Can’t you stand 
the work?” 

‘‘Yes, but, I haven’t any money, at least only a dol- 
lar, and 1 can’t live on that, so I guess I’ll have to go 
back to my folks— to where I used to live?” 

Sade was busy digging a hole in the ground with 
the toe of her shoe. ‘‘You wanted to get some money 
out o’ Jones then,” she asked. 

‘‘Yes, I thought maybe he would pay me in advance, 
or, if I — ” 

‘‘I doubt it. Yonder goes Houg, t’other boss, but 
’twouldn’t do any good to ask him; he’s meaner’n dirt.’ 

‘‘Well,” said Helen, with a sigh, ‘‘I will go to the 
room I had last night. I guess, and, in the morning, I 
will see Mr. Jones and tell him I can’t work, and then 
I will go away. Will I see you in the morning? I 
guess I will, I will come around and tell you good- 
bye, anyhow.” 

‘‘Where did you stay last night?” 

Helen pointed out the place. 

‘‘That’s the Mud House. We call it the Mud 
House. Well we have a room about as nice as they 
have, there. I’ll make room. Won’t you come and 
stay with me?” 

This last, she spoke impulsively, and then she 
began to make excuses for her home; that it was, 
probably, not fit for Helen, but, at the same time, 
planning how she might have a room, and overruling 
Helen’s excuses, that she did not want to impose upon 


254 


Ibelen [Parker 


them, with energetic denials of any imposition, while 
stating, in her rough way, and, perhaps, not so much 
by her words, either, as by her manner and tone, that 
she was set upon Helen coming and would be hurt by 
her refusal. And, so, she carried Helen off with her, 
and verily tore up and re-arranged the whole house, 
that she and Helen might have the best room to them- 
selves. 

Mr. Maguire was a quiet, dark-complexioned, little 
man who worked every day and got drunk every 
Sunday; Sade’s mother was more like her, heavy-set, 
with a good complexion and a temper of her own, 
when aroused; Den, Sade’s oldest brother, about 
twenty-five years of age, was a long, ungainly, dissi- 
pated, wretched-looking young man, who amounted to 
absolutely nothing, did no work, and smoked cigar- 
ettes, while Alf, the younger brother, was a cute little 
fellow of ten or twelve years. 

Sade was, evidently, the head of the house and 
whatever she said was done. She was choosing, now, 
to make Helen at home and comfortable and, although 
the other folks were, evidently, surprised at Helen’s 
coming amongst them, they were careful, under 
Sade’s jealous eyes, to do nothing that could offend 
or embarrass her guest. 

And, now, in this black little house, Helen was to 
spend almost a year of her life. She was not over 
pleased, the first week or two, in spite of Sade’s 
friendliness, and tried to put forth some excuses for 
leaving, and could she have foreseen the length of her 
stay, she would, probably, have been discouraged, and 


Ibelen a r ft e r 


255 


would have felt much as one sentenced to leave the 
bright, sunshiny world, for the dark gloom of a prison 
cell. 

But, luckily, our future does not overhang with 
impending disaster. We climb up the path of life with 
the fog all about us; sometimes it seems to lift and we 
go down into green valleys of pleasure and enjoyment. 
Then, it hangs over the rocky path to shorten by 
its shrouding presence the time of trial and of steep- 
ness, and, lo, we look back from the summit, when we 
have passed over, and say, “it was not so bad after 
all.” 

Sade’s friends came to be Helen’s friends. They 
were mostly Irish girls and, standing at a distance, 
one would have said they were a hard crowd. The 
sort of girls who say things very witty, sometimes, 
and often things very shocking to fully civilized 
ears; girls who laugh boisterously; who know, well, 
the language of vice; who are hardened by daily con- 
tact with the degradation and misery of sin; to whom 
drunkenness is commonplace, and quarrels and fight- 
ings are amusements. 

Some would have lived in a state of perpetual 
antagonism with them, and life would thus have been 
a drag and a conflict, from which anyone would have 
been glad to flee; but Helen succeeded, somehow, in 
finding the way to their hearts and sympathies. They 
took her into the set and watched and protected her, 
jealously, from any who would slight her; they talked 
of her, planned for her and came, almost, to worship 
her. 


256 


Ibelen patfeet 


Sade’s leadership had given way, but she had 
seemed to take this only as a matter of course, and 
had shown a freedom from jealousy and hard feeling 
in the matter, that would have been commendable in 
higher and politer society, and an inordinate pride, 
and passionate affection for one who in some circum- 
stances would have been a fiercely hated, and freely 
maligned rival. 

Helen’s work had become easier with practice, and 
the girls were all so willing and anxious to help her 
that she could not complain on that score. Her 
room at the Maguire’s, despite the outward appear- 
ance of the place, was pleasant enough, too, and 
although she would often rather have been alone, the 
devotion and anxiety to please, together with the wit, 
and natural grace, and strength of character, of her 
companion, appealed to her, and proved the solace and 
comfort of her present life. 

To the youths of the neighborhood she had been 
utterly indifferent. They were not her sort and she 
kept them at a distance with a skill that was a delight 
to all the girls, and, perhaps, her popularity with 
them was due, in some measure, to this, for, although 
they exchanged words roughly with their beaux, and 
seemed, often, to rebuff and ridicule them, carelessly 
enjoying their discomfiture, any act of appropriation 
of, or undue interest in, them, by another girl, would 
have caused them to “slop over’’ as the rough saying 
of the district was, so that enmity would have sup- 
planted friendship in a surprising manner. 

Den Maguire had been most annoying to Helen, 


Ibelen leather 


2 $; 


for, seeing that she was a girl to be admired, he had 
set himself the task of winning her to himself, with a 
strength of resolution new to him. He came to stay 
more about the house, especially in the evenings, and 
was more careful about his attire, brushing up his 
clothes, and combing his hair, and throwing his ciga- 
rette stubs out doors instead of leaving them about the 
house, and, in other ways, improving his person and 
manners for her benefit. But, although she appre- 
ciated this reformation, his forcing himself upon her 
presence, his labored efforts to talk with her, and his 
ugly smile, she could not stand and, after some hesita- 
tion, she one day confided to Sade that his efforts 
in that line were not altogether pleasant to her. This 
proved to be all that was necessary, for, after forcibly 
stating the case to Den, whom she heartily despised, 
Sade, without any ado, proceeded to emphasize it 
by arguments stronger than words. He made a show 
of resistance but, like a dog attacked by a cat, shut 
his eyes, ducked his head before her fierce claws, and, 
so handicapped, and finding no place to use his 
strength, he could only turn about and retire, van- 
quished. 

Helen had watched the fracas from the half-open 
door of her room, and had noted the routing of her 
suitor with great satisfaction, and when Sade came 
in, panting, and working her strong, plump arms, with 
imitations of a fighter, she threw herself upon the bed 
convulsed with laughter. 

“He won’t honey around you again,’’ Sade had 
said, and this proved to be the truth, for he rarely ever 


258 


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spoke to Helen after that and became his old self 
again, as naturally as though no higher thoughts had 
stirred his breast, and, often, when he would sit in his 
favorite corner, looking sullenly down at the floor, 
Helen could not help but laugh at the recollection of 
the battle which had quenched his ardor. 


CHAPTER XXV 


But, in spite of the kindness and friendliness of 
Sade and her crowd, Helen was in a strange place 
and one never to be quite congenial or satisfactory to 
her nature. She was isolated little less, — young 
woman, pet of society, adorned with silks and jewels, 
admired and flattered as you are — than you — if set 
down in a village of the Zulus of Africa — would be, 
amongst the dusky maidens of that country or, if, 
indeed, to be more accurate, you had stepped into her 
place in the factory, mingled with the noisy, unrefined, 
ungirlish girls, or slept in that little room with 
Sade. 

For remember, she had been reared in the midst of 
plenty — she had been beautiful and admired; she had 
been raised as the white rose in the hot house, or the 
delicate carnation; her slender, willowy body, had 
been unused to exertion, much less, confinement and 
labor. She had been used to the finer sensibilities; to 
the silvery laugh, and to well modulated and differ- 
entially spoken words; she had had music, and art, and 
all the intricacies of dress, and fashion, and amuse- 
ment, to occupy and please her. 

What a change! True, she had had an intermediate 
step; fate had seemed to push her, down into the 
depths, with two great shoves; the first was not so bad, 
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Ibelen parser 


but the second had been cruel. She had shown a 
wonderful adaptability to her surroundings but, more 
than her companions could have realized, did their 
rough jests and unrefined acts jar and grate upon her 
inner self; more than she realized did each day wear 
upon the precious remnant of her finer self; with 
greater force, as time passed, was the moral ignorance 
and material ugliness about her deadening her soul; 
and more and more did the meagreness and poverty, 
the lack of culture and intellectual food, the absence 
of one who could inspire, and brighten, and help her, 
in her life, and the corresponding strain and weight 
of those who, unmeaningly, and because of the very 
inferiority of their make up, were dragging her down 
as they looked up to her, increased the yearning 
which makes one’s soul uneasy and rebellious. And 
so, had it not been for another tie, stronger than any 
of these perhaps, her stay in this community would 
have been a short one. 

On the second Sunday of her stay at the Maguire’s 
she had escaped from all the girls, and was walking 
slowly down the street toward the city, thinking as 
she had often thought of the time when she might go 
back to see Harry, and her other friends, in the store 
and in the church. 

She was recalling, one by one, the old familiar faces. 
How good it would seem to walk down the aisle of that 
little church, and how restful it would seem to listen 
to a good sermon, and to see people who appreciate 
good language and good singing; how she yearned to 
hear some music; how she even yearned to see some 


Ibelen parfeet 


261 


green grass and a pretty house. She turned, for a 
minute, and looked back at the mill, silent and 
deserted, with the sun glinting upon the small, cob- 
web-covered windows; at the old tenement and the 
black, unsightly, little houses — Ugh! — Down this 
street led to freedom; just in front of her lay the great 
city. Why should she not walk on, and on, and never 
come back? 

For the first time, a feeling of scorn of the place had 
come over her, and hatred, as one feels who, having 
been working in some dark, dismal hole, has stepped 
out into the bright sunshine and fresh air, and realizing 
the contrast must smother his repugnance and go back. 

And, yet, there was a feeling of hesitation about 
leaving. Where could she go? Not to her old home; 
nowhere but to see Harry, and, there was the old 
question, again, “Could he get her employment?” 
Would there be any satisfaction in meeting him, 
again, only to acknowledge her dependence upon him, 
and to ask him for help. 

She had such a little money saved; her place, 
so hardly earned, was not to be carelessly thrown 
away; neither was the rough, demonstrative affection, 
of these girls, who had, so quickly, come to look upon 
her as an uncrowned queen amongst them — but, could 
she stand it to go back to them? 

At any rate she must enjoy her breath of freedom 
now, she the ught, and so she quickened her pace and 
walked block after block, until she had come out into 
the better streets; until she heard, again, the familiar 
clang and rattle of the street cars; the clatter of horses, 


262 


fcelen iparfiet 


feet upon the pavement and the shrill cry of a news- 
boy in the distance. She even passed a church and a 
theater, and, although she looked upon both with, we 
might say, impartial and equal longing, they were 
closed and she could not go in. 

But at last she stopped; she was as far away as she 
dared to go, and, standing on the street corner, she 
looked about her with conflicting emotions. Across 
the street was a beautiful house with green grass, in 
abundance, and flower beds, and winding walks, and 
pretty trees. And on the porch sat a young woman, 
dressed in pink muslin, and a little boy, while a big 
Newfoundland dog, trying his best to amuse them, 
wagged his tail vigorously, when they laughed at him. 
Home — As she looked at them a sense of her loneli- 
ness and unhappiness brought the tears to her eyes, 
and she turned away. A street-car man was clanging 
his bell, at the corner, and looking intently at her. 
Did she want a car? She slowly shook her head; she 
did, but she couldn’t afford to ride. 

The sounds of the street were causing her heart to 
beat faster and her cheeks to tingle — but, she must go 
back for another week anyhow, and so,- after a last 
look, she set out. She would write to Harry, anyhow, 
and find out what to do. She should have written 
him before, but somehow the days had each been so 
full and had slipped away one by one, with so little 
jar in their passing; and she had been so tired, she had 
not done it. She had inquired, one day, of Sade, for 
writing materials, but diligent search through the 
Maguire^s home, had failed to bring forth more than 


Ibelen patfeet 


263 


some leaves from an old copy book and a lead pencil. 
Helen would not have scorned these but an envelope 
and stamp were not to be secured except by a five 
block’s walk and so, for that time, she had given up 
the letter-writing. 

So now, as she was passing a place where they had 
stationery for sale, she went in and bought some, and, 
for some distance, as she went on, afterward, she 
planned what she should say in her letter, but it was 
destined that this letter should be interrupted again, 
and also that a new factor, if we could not say an old 
friend, was to come into her life. 

The walk back had seemed longer than the going; 
she did not realize having passed so many places and 
was beginning to wonder if she could have missed her 
way when she saw, just ahead of her, the Mud House, 
as Sade called it, where she had spent her first 
night in that district. Luckily it would not be far, 
now, for it was already dusk and it was hardly safe for 
her to be alone after dark on these streets. 

But, as she came to the corner, some one, coming 
from the rear of the building, almost collided with 
her. It was her father. With a sinking heart, she 
saw him. Again, like an icy touch upon her, came the 
sudden conviction that he, with his curse, had entered 
into her life again. 

Surprise had overmastered all other emotions on the 
part of the father. “Why, Helen,” he cried, and then, 
remembering how they had parted, he was about to 
flee, but she put out her hand and held him. “I want 
you,” she said, and, then, she led him a distance away 


264 


Ibelen H>arfeer 


from a rough group, on the Mud House porch, who, 
mistaking her motive, were talking and laughing 
about them unpleasantly. 

“Where have you been?” she asked. But for a time, 
this old man, gaunter and whiter than ever; trembling 
with an added nervousness; with a quickened hearing 
and a habit of slyly scrutinizing one’s face but avoid- 
ing the eyes — could not seem to speak, but stood, with 
his long, slender hands folded in front of him, and 
eyes fixed steadily upon the ground, as though, 
ashamed and convicted, he was waiting for her blame. 

And well did he know, too, that her words of con- 
demnation could not be fitting for the ghastly horror 
of his crime; a blasted life and a hangman’s rope was 
its sterner due. But, worse than this knowledge would 
have been words of accusation from Helen’s lips; he 
would have cowered and shrunk from them, as from a 
red-hot iron, but she did not speak them; her voice, 
as she questioned him, did not have the disdainful or 
scornful inflection that he had expected and dreaded. 
Perhaps this gave him some hope and he was wonder- 
ing if she knew the fearful truth. Possibly he was 
wondering why he had staid and, if it would not be 
better, yet, to escape. Or, maybe, he was too over- 
come with emotion to think that this girl should speak 
to him at all. Anyhow, it was not until Helen had 
spoken to him several times, that she elicited any re- 
sponse from him. 

“Where are you staying?’’ she had asked and he had 
pointed his thumb toward the Mud House and 
explained sententiously, “In the kitchen.” 


l)elen parftet 


265 


“How long have you been there?” 

“A week.” 

“Where were you before that?” 

This would need a more extended answer, and the 
drunkard hesitated and looked nervously, in every 
direction before he spoke. Helen was questioning 
him very calmly; that icy feeling had served to ban- 
ish any disturbing emotions, either of pity or horror. 
Possibly he wondered if Harry was near or if she 
would betray him. 

“I was away,” he stammered. “I — 1 went south, a 
ways, but thought I would come back,” and, then, the 
fear within him brought out a question, hurriedly. 
“Is it dangerous for me, here? Will I get caught?” 

He was sorry, immediately, for the unguarded 
words, and tried to stammer some explanation, but 
Helen knew of it; she did not ask what danger, or 
why. She was looking steadily at him and he, feeling 
her eyes upon him, lifted his for a minute. She was 
thinking of Harry and of him. She must choose 
between them. She must give up thoughts of return- 
ing to her old friends, or she must renounce her father, 
and she felt that a harsh word, spoken by her, would 
be now a separation for probably all time. 

In the brief minute that she stood looking at him 
past events crowded through her mind like a pano- 
rama. Especially did their former meeting stand out 
distinctly in this bird’s eye view of her life, and now, 
as then, did she lift up an appeal to her Creator for 
help. God came closer to her than for weeks before 
and, as she turned her soul upward for the minute, 


266 


tbelen patfeet 


religious impulses came sweeping into her being with 
all the transforming influence and power of the 
Almighty’s messages to this earth. 

Suddenly she took her father’s chin upon her two 
hands and lifted his face up to hers and then, impul- 
sively pressed a kiss upon it, “Father, you need never 
be afraid, I will never harm you. He never will. He is 
far away and I — I will never let him know where we are. ’ ’ 

As they looked into each other’s eyes, they read 
each others thoughts; there was no secret between 
them; there was, by that quick, searching glance, an 
understanding conveyed that made words unneces- 
sary, and that brought a sympathy that these same 
words, whether direct — harsh and grating — or round 
about — hinting and parleying — would have inevitably 
destroyed. 

“I will quit drinkin’ for you, girl,’’ he answered in a 
husky, choked voice, and all the remnant of his man- 
hood was behind the words. But every day are men 
swearing thus to quit the bitter drink, before wife and 
hungry children, before mothers, pleading in their 
pathetic helplessness, “Before God, and these wit- 
nesses, I solemnly swear to abstain, etc.’’ To these 
do they sign their names. Before the chancel rail of 
the church, with ministers’ hands in theirs and sym- 
pathetic neighbors standing behind, do these miser- 
able wretches cry out for deliverance. Before the rude 
bench of the Salvation Army, with encouraging cries 
in their ears, do they sob and tremble before God — 
and yet do they fail, and human fiends entice them 
back to their death. 


Ibelen parfeet 


267 


These two walked together, to the Maguire home 
and Helen told of their relationship much to the sur- 
prise of that worthy family. 

“Is that guy your father?” Sade asked, after he 
had left. “Really now, I’ll be stepped on if I c’n 
believe it.” 

Helen answered in the affirmative. 

“Boozes, don’t he?” commented Sade. 

“He drinks; he used to, but he promised me he 
would quit.” 

“He wont, though. He’ll be like my dad, I told 
him he had to quit, I scared him for all I knew and I 
made Ma get after him too, but it only lasted a little 
bit and he begun to growl around that he’d leave the 
house if we didn’t leave him alone, and so we did — 
You might just as well let ’em drink. I used to drink, 
a little, myself on occasions, but still, it spoils people 
— I hate to see ’em boozy.” 

“It’s wrong. It’s my duty to help my father; he 
was a fine man, once; that is, he was smart, had affine 
home and good clothes. Drinking has spoiled him, 
but, worst of all, it deadens the morals and spiritual — 
it cuts him out of heaven. By God’s help I’m going 
to try to help him to stop.” 

Her voice was low and tremulous with emotion as 
she spoke these words. It was the first time Sade 
had ever heard her speak of God and she was evidently 
much awed so that she did not answer in words, but 
came and put her arms about Helen’s neck and helped 
to wipe away the tears which had come into her eyes. 

Then Helen released herself and going into their 


268 


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little room threw herself upon the bed and tried to 
think. The decision had been a hard one for her. 
The very strength of determination and energy she 
had summoned to the struggle had brought that sud- 
den impulse to seal her decision with a kiss, and by 
that she had banished all other considerations. 

But she was only human and some of these consider- 
ations were making her uncomfortable now. The 
longing to go back into the world again, as it were, 
must be quenched. That breath of freedom she had 
enjoyed that afternoon was only a phantom breath and 
mockery. The factory life was to be her lot for she 
could not tell how long. She had promised not to let 
Harry know of her whereabouts. The letter she had 
been planning must be given up — how she wished she 
had written before, and yet it was better that she had 
not. He would be hunting her, if he cared for her. 
He would be worried and she should at least let him 
know that she was alive. And here for some time her 
thought was interrupted by wondering — wondering if 
he did care for her, or how much, and if he was won- 
dering if she cared for him. Possibly there was no 
wondering about it on his part, and the tinge of color 
and faint smile that came into her face indicated a 
pleasing knowledge, but gave way to a look of pain, 
and with a sigh she arose and arranging her writing 
material began to write. 

Her first attempt was unsuccessful and she tore it 
up, likewise the second; but after studying over the 
third a while she folded it and put it into her pocket. 
It ran: 


1bcJ^n_^rfter 


269 


“Dear Friend: — I write you this to let you know that 
I am well, that I have employment and friends. 
Knowing that you would be puzzled and probably 
alarmed at my disappearance, I should have written 
sooner. Circumstances have placed a barrier between 
us and it is my earnest v ^sh that you should not try to 
find me, as so doing will bring unhappiness to myself 
and one whom I love. “Helen Parker.” 

It was a roughly written little note, and she had 
wished to add a word of regret; some little feminine 
sentence of tenderness and sympathy, to round it out; 
to tell him of her trials and struggles; and friends and 
surroundings; to speak of her old friends, old ties; of 
her hopes, her wishes, her aspirations. She had 
almost said, I will come to you, some time, if pos- 
sible, but had given it up. It was harsh. In her 
effort to make it straightforward, and business-like, 
she had made it jagged and rough, and she felt that it 
would cut into the very heart of her best earthly 
friend. 

But she was not writing it for herself but for her 
father, and so, after crying over it, that night, when 
Sade was asleep, and nobody knew of it, she, took 
it over to the Mud House, on the following evening, 
and showed it to him. At first he was greatly startled 
and shrunk back from the very touch of it, but, pres- 
ently, she induced him to read it and he agreed that 
there was nothing in it which could lead to his 
undoing. 

“Do as you wish,” she had said. “Send it or no.” 


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And she relinquished it into his hands and turned away 
with a sigh of weariness. 

Then he began to plead with her to leave him, and 
go back to her lover, for he felt the sacrifice and the 
pathos of that message and despised himself all the 
more for being the cause of it, but she would not hear 
him, and he began to plan how he might send it, 
safely, so as to avoid a tell-tale postmark upon it. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


As often as possible Helen went to the Mud House 
to see her father but, in the shortening days of the 
approaching winter, it was barely daylight when she 
went to her work and dark when she had finished, and 
in her wearied condition, she could not go to him 
every night, besides which, it would not have been 
safe for her to go alone. He could get away, some- 
times, to talk with her, a few minutes, at the noon 
recess, and sometimes he x:ame to Maguire’s, evenings; 
but, while Sade evidently tried to restrain her feel- 
ings, her natural aversion for the father and her jeal- 
ousy of his attention to Helen were so marked as to 
make them uncomfortable, and she saw that he was in 
danger of discontinuing these visits. 

So she felt that her influence over him was not 
strong enough; he was too far away, and her uneasi- 
ness in this respect was presently changed to certainty. 
She had gone over to the Mud House one night, after 
a several days’ absence, and at once saw that her 
father had been drinking; the old fever of intemper- 
ance was upon him and he had given up. 

She did not speak of it, but he saw, from her man- 
ner, that she knew it, and at once fell to cursing him- 
self, and pleading with her to leave him in his shame. 

Upon the next day she told Sade that she was 
going to leave her and go to the Mud House. 

271 


272 


Ibelen parftet 


“Not if I know anthing about it, you won’t,” 
Sade had cried out, passionately. “You won’t give 
me the shake, that way, will you, Helen? Why should 
you? You can’t go; I won’t let you,” and she had put 
her great arms about her, as she was in the habit of 
doing, to hold her. 

“I must be with my father,” Helen replied, firmly, 
and pushing the arms away, “I am not with him 
enough.” 

“Why, you see him every day that passes.” 

“No, a good many days 1 don’t see him at all, and 
then, 1 haven’t enough influence over him; I can’t 
help him enough. 

“Can’t he take care of himself, he’s big enough, 
he’s got work, and enough grub,” Sade answered, 
for their family relations had made such reasoning 
almost unintelligible to her. 

“Yes, but — he was drinking last night ” 

“Oh, booze is got him, again. You think, if you 
wuz at the Mud House, you would keep it away from 
him. Well, you wouldn’t, I told you at first how 
it ’ud be.” 

“Well, I must try,” Helen answered, desperately. 
"“I hate to leave you; you’ve been very kind to me, 
but, after all, I won’t be very far away and I’ll see you 
every day.” 

“No, but that don’t go, I don’t want you to go to 
the Mud House. There’s a hard gang over there, 
they’ll get away with your old man in spite of you. I 
say, bring him over here. I’ll make room same as I did 
for you. I’ll help you to take care of him.” 


Ibelen iNatfeet 


m 


This, at first, Helen flatly refused to do, but at last 
Sade, whose will power seemed always capable of 
overruling Helen’s, gained her consent, providing her 
father did not object, and then, going over to see him 
that night, the craftiness and earnestness of Sade’s 
tongue, which would have honored a diplomat, 
together with the discouraging outlook of his present 
state, elicited from him the promise to come. 

He was to have a part of the other bed room cur- 
tained off for him, Sade said, and despite the late- 
ness of the hour when they returned, she went at once 
to work arranging. Alf, with much cuddling, and 
patting, and tickling, was tucked away in an 
improvised bed, at the foot of his parents’, while Den 
was unceremoniously informed that his place of rest 
was to be upon some bedding on the floor of the din- 
ing room. 

He objected, strenuously, for a time, but, seeing the 
fire of indignation coming into the eyes of his big sis- 
ter, he sullenly gave in, and so Sade’s declaration 
that she would make room for Helen’s father, had not 
been in vain. 

Here, for almost two months, they lived, through 
the coldness of the winter, the three laborers setting 
out together for their work, in the early mornings, 
and returning together at night. For some time the 
father had seemed to improve, under their watchful 
care, until Sade said, approvingly, one day, “He’ll 
get his back straight, yet,’’ though, in her well-meant 
efforts to help, she was, at times, a little too rough, 
jarring upon the patience of the lawyer who, in his 


274 


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younger days, had been a man of the finer sensibil- 
ities, and which all the dissipation of his life had failed 
to obliterate, so that he prized the sympathy and 
devotion of his daughter, with a tenderness and appre- 
ciation, one would not expect from his appearance. 

To him it was torture to see Helen in these rough 
surroundings; to see her slender form trudging off, 
beside him, through the cold, to the dismal mill; to 
see her, as a pansy surrounded by asters, in the midst 
of the girls, answering their rough jests, laughing with 
them, talking of their work and of their homes; becom- 
ing a part of the neighborhood. It was a pathetic 
sight and one that brought fresh pangs of remorse 
from the overburdened conscience, and a feeling of 
desperation and hopelessness to his soul. 

Perhaps it was this that helped in his downfall and 
their final separation. He failed, one night, to meet 
the girls at the mill, as he usually did and, after going 
home without him, and waiting for some time, they 
set out toward the Mud House after him. They met 
him on the way, and the strong whiff of drink upon 
his breath, easily explained the cause of his delay. 
Sade unwisely ventured a word of remonstrance, 
which he resented, and Helen, speaking to quiet him, 
came in for a sharp word from him. 

This was the last straw and he knew it. For a 
time after that, he stayed, but he avoided the girls’ 
company, to a great extent, passing Sade sullenly, and 
ashamed and downcast, cringing, as it were, before 
Helen. 

One night the two girls had been out for a short 


fteicn i>arher 


275 


walk and were nearing the house, arm in arm, when 
an approaching figure, easily recognizable to them, 
halted, hesitatingly, in the distance and then began 
to make a detour to enter the house without meeting 
them. 

“It’s him,” Sade commented. “He ain’t p’tickler 
about seein’ us.” 

“Father,” Helen called. 

At that he stopped and presently, came to them 
and they saw that he had been drinking, though he 
was striving to conceal it. 

“What did you want?” he asked. 

For a moment she did not answer, and then, it was 
in a tone meant to shame him, perhaps, though she 
had given up hope of his reformation. 

“I wish you’d bring me some beer, too.’ 

“You,” he cried, aghast. “To you?” 

She laughed in a way that she would not have been 
capable of six months before, for this striving against 
such odds was bringing a bitterness into her nature. 

“Yes. Why not?” 

“Hell, child. I’m dragging you down,” he cried 
fiercely, stamping his foot upon the ground. “Go 
back to your old place; go back, I say. You must 
leave this cursed place, and forget me for a drunken 
wretch. I will never curse you again, Helen, by a 
look.” 

Surprised and terrified by his vehemence, the girls 
were conscious of these words and also that he was 
disappearing in the distance, more as though it was a 
dream than a reality, but Helen suddenly broke away 


276 


Ibelen pavfeer 


from Sade’s detaining hand and started in pursuit. 
With a wild shriek the figure in front of them, quick- 
ened its pace and they could see it flying wildly 
ahead, into the darkness and presently disappear, and 
then Helen stopped and allowed herself to be cap- 
tured by her pursuing friend. 

“Gee, how you can run,” were Sade’s first words, 
after she had recovered a little breath, and the 
ludicrousness of the situation, flashing upon her, 
Helen had to laugh and that laugh helped to dispel 
the grief and the horror of that tragic parting, but still, 
there was much sadness in it for her, and tears soon 
followed the laugh. 

Sade had tried her best to comfort, though to 
her the disappearance of this man was evidently a 
relief. Den, who had been in a state of almost open 
rebellion was now enabled to return to his old quarters 
and the Maguire home settled down to its old domes- 
tic felicity. 

The days of the spring came and went, and those of 
the summer, and still, Helen worked at the mill and 
lived with Sade. With her, the untroubled, unanx- 
ious philosophy of the girls about her, who looked 
upon mill work as their natural occupation, and whose 
younger sisters spoke longingly of the time when 
they might enter the mill, too, was impossible. She 
could not speak with scorn and contempt of the rich 
and educated, and the higher classes of people, as so 
many of these did, in their ignorance, for she had 
been of that class. She was as an exile longing for 
her native country, while they were speaking, as 


t)elen iparfter 


2 ^^ 

foreigners do, of a country and a people they knew 
not. 

At times, she would feel an almost uncontrollable 
impulse to fly somewhere. Restless as a tigress con- 
fined in a cage, she would chafe at the slow passing 
hours of the day, and at night would defy Sade’s 
best efforts to please her; answering her petulantly; 
refusing to laugh; finding fault with her plans, until 
the latter, seemingly never impatient with her, would 
turn her back upon her in mock disgust. 

These attacks, however, did not last very long and 
became less frequent as time passed. Environment 
is a great shaper of our lives. With surprising power 
does it mould our bodies, our wills, our thoughts, to 
it. With undeniable skill does it seem to throw a 
charm upon us, to make the past seem distant and 
unreal, and to minify the future to the present and 
hold us, unwittingly, in our place, so that we look 
back and say, “I have lived here so long, I have done 
this work so long, — how strange.” 

And so, much of the time, Helen could be really 
happy and content, not worrying, either because of 
the past or the future, being occupied with the present 
and the details of life which enter into anyone’s exist- 
ence everywhere. 

At first she had expected that, possibly, her father 
might return, but days lengthened into weeks with- 
out him and so she had given him up. 

Religiously, Helen was suffering the worst; her 
body was, perhaps, less supple and graceful, and her 
shoulders a little inclined to droop because of the 


2^8 


Ibelen parfeer 


work. Mentally, she was not gaining, and lack of 
gain means lack of power, there. In manners and, 
too, in society graces she was not gaining, but, natu- 
rally neat, graceful, and self-possessed, she was the 
model and example of the girls about her in these 
respects and was rather raising the standard of the 
neighborhood than suffering because of its depressed 
state. Sometimes, for fun, she repeated some of the 
sayings and by-words of the girls, but her tongue still 
retained its untarnished purity of tone and speech. 
She was in contact with degradation and outbroken 
sin, but her nature was above enjoying their dissipa- 
tions. 

Two different Sundays she had gone to amission, at 
no very great distance, but had received little consola- 
tion from its services. The congregations were of the 
same rough, ignorant class, as her neighbors. The 
matron’s attention was very much taken up with a set 
of noisy young boys whom she was trying to interest, 
and although she came and spoke to Helen, she was 
evidently not used to talking to persons of her breed- 
ing, and could not, or did not conceive that Helen 
was in need of any help and hungry for religious con- 
solation and advice. 

There was no church near, and she had come in 
contact with no one who professed Christianity. Her 
inquiries amongst the girls, had brought out some 
original ideas, and some jumbled-up Catholic doc- 
trines, of which she was ignorant. There seemed to 
be no one who could help her. 

As one who is shut in the dark finds it more and mor^ 


Ibelen parfeet 


m 

difficult to conceive of the light, she, excluded from 
Christian kindness and sympathy, was beginning to 
doubt their reality; separated from church and friends 
they had come to seem distant and apathetic, but 
worse than the doubting, and the estrangement from 
old friends, was the doubting and the carelessness of 
God’s goodness, and wisdom, and care. 

Ah, it was a testing time for her. But, you say, it 
was not so much testing as the submerging of faith 
and hope. As it was, it seemed that way to her and 
she wondered why it was permitted; why, when she 
was trying to cling to the faith, she should be almost 
torn from it; why, when she had prayed for help and 
deliverance, from her distasteful surroundings and 
uneasiness of soul, there had seemed to come no 
answer. 

But, was it God’s fault? Was He distant and weak 
and uncaring? No, in his name girls more fragile 
and as beautiful, had gone out alone into the 
blackness, sin and misery of heathenism and had 
wrought mightily; suffering from fevers and agues and 
homesickness; dying unswerving, unfaltering, with 
smiles upon their lips. Consecrated women were 
working, down amongst the dark slums, fighting 
ignorance, sickness and poverty and showing sym- 
pathy and interest for just such as and worse than 
Helen was now among, penetrating the dank air of 
darkness, with the calm light of Christ’s Spirit shin- 
ing in their faces, and their cheer and smile not freez- 
ing or darkening from the contact — yes, in his 
strength. But Helen was not using his strength. 


28 o 


Ibelen parliet 


She was concealing her intercourse with him; she was 
living a life of neutrality or, at least, of inactivity, 
where once she had upheld her religion in the face 
of opposition and persecution. Once she had been 
kept brave, and strong by the means of grace, by often 
looking up to God; by the sympathy of her church 
friends, especially by Harry Spencer’s example and 
advice, and by her generous impulses and Christian 
solicitude toward her father. 

True, she was encouraging the girls about her to do 
right. She was giving them good moral advice when- 
ever she felt that her influence would warrant it. She 
was using all of the money she could spare of her slen- 
der wages to relieve the suffering about her, which was 
often lamentable, appealing to her strongly, sometimes 
buying a warm garment or badly needed household 
article for one of the girls, and by so doing winning 
their warm gratitude and admiration; for they, while 
in the main generous, were unthinking and, depriva- 
tion being their lot, did not notice each other’s lack, 
though they appreciated one who did. 

She was holding religion as by a thread, sometimes 
looking up at it as one does at a kite, v/ondering if it 
would get away from her, and sometimes hungering 
for it, but with a poor hope even as she prayed that 
he would answer. 

Ah, young believer, do not as she did. Look not 
for the weakness of God but for your own. Look not 
for his neglect but at yourself. Think not of his dis- 
tance but of your rebellion. Give not up the struggle. 
If doubts seem to come upon you as the blinding fog, 


f^elen parftet 


281 


watch eagerly for the sun to shine through. If your 
life seems to have been ruined and dwarfed, say not, 
there is no God, but search for the power that shall 
swell it out and expand it into eternity. If evil- 
stained faces seem everywhere to confront you, and 
mockery seems to hang over you as the pall of the evil 
one, be not yet dismayed, for all this is only threaten- 
ing and no harm. If your life becomes unlovely and 
wretched in your sight, and a burden, oh, try to infuse 
from some source some unselfishness into it, some- 
thing greater than unselfishness that shall cause you 
to forget your trials, some forethought and yet 
greater, that shall dwarf the darkness of your life in 
the blaze and joy of that to come. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


It was a quiet Sunday evening. It had been a very 

warm day, and the people of the little town of B 

in southern Iowa seemed to be all sitting outside upon 
their porches, reclining under the shade of their great 
trees, or lounging in their hammocks, trying to catch 
the evening breezes which were beginning to come 
fluttering through the air. 

This was a town of quietness and of churches. 
There were three of them, white and tall with slender 
spires. Bub whether so many were needed because of 
the abundance of worshipers, or because of trouble- 
some doctrines and diverging ideas, would be a ques- 
tion to a newcomer. 

Scattered down Main street in an ill-regulated row 
were almost a dozen stores and shops, including two 
black, dirt-floored blacksmith shops — to cater to the 
necessities of the inhabitants and of the surrounding 
country. These former were not of that class that turn 
the world upside down by their energy and ambitions. 
Most of them gardened and raised a few chickens. 
Several of them were traders in grain. There were 
the half-dozen merchants, and the two brawny black- 
smiths with their helpers. There were those who, 
having possessions of land near by, were content to 
live quietly in the town with their renting and collect- 
ing of rent as their only anxiety. There were huck- 
282 


Ibelen patfeet 


283 


sters, stockmen, teamsters and loafers, who seemed 
well contejit to make a daily round of their profes- 
sional acquaintances, read their papers and whittle in 
their doorways. 

But this was the Sabbath day, and all was quiet, 
except for the play of a curly black dog which ran 
scampering about barking and whining as two small 
children clapped their hands at it, and except for the 
laughter that now and then came from two country 
swains and their town girls, who had sought the shade 
of a great cottonwood in the far edge of the town. 

And now comes the ringing of the church bells, 
echoing out over the surrounding country, now in 
unison, now alternating, supplementing each other, 
calling and welcoming all to the closing services of 
the Sabbath rest. Teams were already pouring in 
from the country, and there was many a rough greet- 
ing and inquiry as to the prospects and the looks of 
corn. There was the gathering together of certain 
soft young men and their always smiling, blushing 
girls before the meeting house; and at the rear, 
amongst the horses, was another, of those young men 
with their admiring hangers-on, who looked down 
upon such softness, and who were frequently yelling 
out some derogatory remark at them, but continually 
relapsing into their never-failing, never-exhausted, 
subjects, horse swapping, colt breaking, and pony rac- 
ing, their conversation now and then enlivened by 
intervals of high and irreverent words and threaten- 
ings from one to break another’s jaw, with the undi- 
vided and irrespective encouragement of all. 


284 


Ibelen parfter 


A few minutes of stolen and sweet delay, and then 
one by one the loungers, disappeared from their posi- 
tions of comfort, going inside to get ready, and soon the 
quiet streets were dotted with the church-goers. The 
bell chimed out the last summons. The racks were 
full. The stragglers, with perspiring faces, had hur- 
ried inside, all but some of these same Godless young 
men who found it more to their liking to sit in old 
Barb Grey’s spring wagon and swap news than to “set 
in the hot meetin’ house and put up with preachin’ fer 
an’ hour and a half.’’ 

But there were two individuals just outside the town 
upon the hillside who seemed little affected by all 
this. They were disreputable looking specimens of 
humanity and would have been classified as tramps of 
the species bum. 

One fat and unshapely lay sprawling upon his back, 
his head resting upon a slight grassy eminence that 
surrounded the trunk of the tree under which he lay, 
while his knees pointed toward the heavens. A 
greasy cap flattened under his head proved an all- 
sufficient pillow and his eyes were closed in lazy con- 
tent and indifference. 

His companion, stretched at full length a few feet 
distant, with his head resting upon his hand, was no 
more pleasing to the eye though a contrast, tall and 
angular with long, uncombed, grizzled hair, and black 
eyes, his face, white and sallow and evidently for a 
long time unshaven. 

Both had cast-away, travel-worn garments, which 
hung about them in dispirited folds and creases, and 


ibelen parFiet 


285 


together they formed a picture of unsightly forlornity 
greatly marring the otherwise beautiful and peaceful 
little orchard; 

As the bells had rung out, the closed eyes of the fat 
man had slowly opened, and he had made some lazy 
remark about ’em all goin’ ter church; but the long 
man, if he heard, did not answer. 

He had picked up a fallen apple from the grass 
beside him and was looking at it intently and impas- 
sionately. Maybe he was wondering when apples 
would be ripe for they were still very green and sour, 
or maybe he was wondering like the small boy how 
apples came to grow round. Presently, however, he 
spoke up. 

“It’s about six months since we left town, ain’t it, 
Jack?’’ 

“ ’Bout, I guess — ’twere in de first mont’.’’ 

“Yes, and quite a little over — seems like a long 
spell — ’twere cold then.’’ 

A grunt of assent was the only answer and the 
speaker did not seem satisfied. Getting up rather 
hastily he walked back and forth sev^eral times under 
the tree, and then halting, gave the feet of his sleep- 
ing mate an unceremonious kick. 

“Huh,’’ cried that individual, starting up suddenly, 
and then as he looked about him he subsided again. 
“Thought I was in a box-car an’ a perlece wakin’ of 
me with his club. What d’ye want; somebody 
cornin’?’’ 

“No, I want to talk to you.” 

“Well, I’ll be ’’ and he sat up in astonishment 


286 


Ibelen parser 


as the strangeness of the request and of his compan- 
ion’s manner became apparent to him. “Why, don’t 
yer set down? It makes me tired to see yer stand up 
that way.’’ 

“I’ve a notion to quit bumming,” continued the tall 
man, complying with the request. 

“An’ what?” was the sententious query. 

“An’ go to work, square an’ fer good.” 

A convulsive twitch came to the fat man’s mouth as 
though a bitter pill had touched his lips, and he gave 
an incredulous jerk to his head; “Naw — yer jokin’, 
Parker.” 

“No, I ain’t. Jack — been thinking about it all after- 
noon.” 

“What! ’Ave you struck an easy job — pullin’ cen- 
tury flowers for boquets or sich like? or ’ave you struck 
a purty girl?” 

“No, I’d tell ye. Jack, if you wouldn’t jush me,” 
and he eyed the other soberly. 

“Naw, go on.” 

“Well, it was just a little girl, purty as an angel, 
curls and blue eyes, and a voice as sweet an’ soft — it 
made me think of my own little girl — you know 
I’ve told you about her, Jack — only she ain’t little 
now.” 

“Yes, heard you speak about her now and agin.” 

“You see I were off t’uther side the town workin’ my 
dinner, and was havin’ a lot of trouble. Everybody 
wuz to church except them as was too cussed mean and 
grouchy to give a fellow a hand-out, but I wuz climbin’ 
that raise over yonder slow-like when I heard some 


Ibelen pathev 287 

one running and panting behind me, and when I turned 
round, here it wuz this little girl.” 

“She comes right up and asks, ‘Oh, man, what time 
is it?’ ’Course I didn’t have my watch, but I had 
noticed at the last place it wuz a quarter to noon and 
I told her so.’ 

“ ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I wuz afraid I’d be late to Sunday 
school; our teachers don’t want us to be late. My, 
but I’m warm! Wouldn’t you like to carry my coat 
for me?’ An' if you'd believe it, pard, she give it 
right over to me, where some people on de short 
acquaintance wouldn’t trusted me to carry a shoe 
string for ’em. But I walks right along an’ carries it 
or her, same's if I liked to do it. Kind o’ forgot 
myself and didn't stop at the next house, nor the 
next, but wuz just listening to her talk, till all of a 
sudden we wuz at the church ” 

“An’ went in an’ got converted?” put in the other. 

“No, but she stood right by me an’ said I could hold 
her coat a little while longer. An’ I stood a-listening 
to her questions, an’ she wuz telling me about what a 
nice Sunday school they had, and that her father wuz 
the superintendent. She couldn’t say de word, but 
she said he wuz de man who stood up in front — an’ she 
had such a nice teacher, an’ she asked me if I had any 
little girls an’ if they went to Sunday school, too, and 
if I didn’t buy them any dolls and nice clothes. She 
wanted me to go in with her, and then an old man, I 
guess he was near-sighted, spoke to me that it wuz a 
good thing to bring the children, just like as though I 
wuz her father. Then church let out, and the fine 


288 


Ibelen ipatfeer 


people begun to come out and so I cleared out, 
too.” 

As he finished, Jack seemed incapable of any reply, 
even his sluggish nature had been touched by the 
quickly spoken sentences, and the unsteadiness of his 
companion’s voice, so that a jesting or scorning 
remark did not seem right to him, and yet he hardly 
knew what words would express the rude notion of 
sympathy he felt. 

So, after a moment’s pause, the other continued: 

“Yes, pard, it’s strange, but somehow it stirred me 
up and made me feel like I wanted to quit trampin’ 
and go to work — be differ’ nt, so people ’ud speak to 
me and so I wouldn’t feel like a sneakin’ dog. Its 
strange why it should — as strange as why I ever come 
down to a tramp, an’ that I never could understand. 
I had a good chance once. I might a been a smart 
lawyer.” 

‘‘Then, why ain’t you?’ 

‘‘You know why. Drink and gamblin’ brought me 
down; but why I ever let ’em is the mystery.” 

‘‘Yes, an’ I’m afraid they would again, but what did 
you think of doin’, pard; turn to farmin’?” 

‘‘Couldn’t Jack — don’t know hay seed from pump- 
kins, an’ besides if I knew it all, none of ’em would 
look at me.” 

‘‘Ye couldn’t go to lawyerin’. Bill, you’d be bringin’ 
in bum talk, an’ they wouldn’t stand it.” 

“Yes, an’ I’d be dead before I got a client — but I’ve 
a notion to start for town; I never could stand it to 
travel long. I went south a while back an’ even went 


t)eten parfeet 


289 


into some of de big towns and tried to stay, but I 
couldn’t. I couldn’t get to feel at home, out here in 
the country; it’s too still, an’ then yer meetin’ better 
classes of people, an’ you’re alone, an’ they’re lookin’ 
at you so blasted keen — it gets away with me. I want 
to get back amongst the old soaks where I ain’t 
noticed an’ they don’t take so much int’rest in me.” 

“Well, we kin go back. I ain’t never leary of de 
town myself.” 

“I’m up against it dere myself you ” 

“What.” 

‘‘Well, it’s not so bad, it’s old, but I wouldn’t like 
to get cracked up and sometimes I get d — d nervous in 
there an’ wish I wuz out.” 

‘‘I never heard ’bout it. Don’t be mum. Wuz it 
swipin’ ?” 

For a moment the tall man hesitated, his eyes fell to 
the ground and his long bony fingers twisted about 
each other nervously, then he glanced at his partner 
and then averting his eyes answered in a strained, 
different tone. 

‘‘ ’Twere a fight, pard, an’ de man died.” 

‘‘You weren’t tracked?” 

‘No.” 

‘‘Whose onto you?” 

‘‘De boy and my girl.” 

‘‘ ’Tweren’t right to let her in.” 

‘‘It wasn’t my doin’s — but she’s mum — she’s an 
angel. Jack; tried to help me out, left her friends for 
me an’ all that, but ’twere no go.” 

‘‘An’ the kid?” 


2g6 


Tbelen parser 


“He’s down town in ’s. He chased 

me once but give me up. I don’t know what he’d do 

if he’d get me, but I fight shy of ’im, 

though if I wouldn’t ’bout as lief get scooped an’ have 
it out. I ’spose if I’d go back I could get something 
to if ’twere only street cleanin’.’’ 

Jack laughed. 

“Parker, you’re crazy, you know as well as me that 
before a week you’d be back sweepin’ out Hi Davis’s 
saloon fer your drinks ’stead o’ sweepin’ the streets. 
You’re keen as a hound when you smell de liquor clear 
out here in this pro-hi-bition country. In dere you’d 
go by de first place, mebby, turn your head and hold 
your breath, but the second or third ’ud get you ’’ 

“I’m afraid so.’’ 

“Now, weren’t that the real cause of yer notion to 
quit de bum — weren’t it a kind of blind excuse fer 
your goin’ back to de city? Cussed if I ever saw such 
a dry country. I don’t blame you, pard, I ’’ 

“Damn it, no, man,’’ cried the other, angrily, jump- 
ing up. “I hate liquor, I tell you, I wish de country 
wuz as dry of it as yonder town. Haven’t I got a 
good cause. It got me down and is holding me down, 
so I can’t do nuthin’, or be nuthin’ but a bum,’’ and he 
threw himself upon the ground again in a hopeless 
fashion. 

“Funny how jes’ that little girl riled me up so. 
Wish you could a-seen her. Jack.’’ 

“Now see here, Bill, I didn’t go in fer to put you 
out. If a man wants to give up trampin’ and boozin’, 
I say go ahead. I’ve had de same feelin’s myself, but 


Ibelen parhcr 


291 


didn’t say nuthin’ ’cause I knew it wuz no use, you 
know. I’m favorable to doin’ right, but, at de same 
time, haven’t got de speshul knack of doin’ it — but 
mebby you might make it go. If you could jest hire 
to some farmer right around here now, ’twould be the 
best for you.” 

“No, I couldn’t, I know; let it all go. Jack.” 

“Now let me see. I weren’t tryin’ to discourage 
you, Parker, mebby you could get to be janitor to some 
buildin’ or something that way if we’d strike a bigger 
town; or get to scrub out de stores, or whitewash; or 
ye could mebbe get a few little trinkets to peddle an’ 
work de ole soldier dodge for customers; or if yer 
thought it best, you could go back an’ try yer own 
idea, though I’d be lonesome without you, and I don’t 
believe it ’ud work, either.” 

“No, I’ll stay here with you, it wuz a crazy notion. 
Jack, but honest, I wish I wuz dead.” 

“Oh, well now, yer better off'n you might be. I’ve 
seen big men ’ut I’d rather not be than you, and I’ve 
seen and heard of places that I’d rather not be at, than 
here on this nice green grass wid de leafy trees, and 
the big blue sky above us, an’ the yellow sun just 
a showin’ a little gold along one edge o’ it.” 

“Now, the best thing fer gents like us is alius to be 
cheerful and to have a motto. I’ll tell yer what mine 
is, pard. It’s help yerself if you can, an’ if you can’t, 
don’t kick — an’ I heard an Irishman say one once ’ut 
stuck in my craw ’cause de meanin’s about de same as 
mine, I guess, and it ’ud be first rate fer you. It were 
— Be aisy, an’ if you can’t be aisy, be as aisy as yer 


292 


Ibelen parser 


can — so cheer up, pard, it were only an off day with 
you.” 

His companion had stretched himself full length 
upon the grass with his face turned in an opposite 
direction. 

“The News Recorder” of a neighboring town had 
upon the third day after this a heading in its local 
news, ‘‘Tramps and Fights; An Exciting Time,” and 
then an explanation in detail and in the semi-humor- 
ous tone adopted by many country town editors who 
have a joking acquaintance with everybody and ample 
space in their sheets to fill up. 

‘‘For a long time this town has seemed to be over- 
run in a heedless sort of fashion with tramps, the Way- 
side Willies, the Dusty Rhoades, the Hurry Harries 
and others of the leisure-lived gents have made this a 
regular stamping ground and have subsisted upon the 
hand-outs of our hospitable citizens, until they became 
a nuisance, and the warm generosity of the heart, in 
some cases, lapsed into an artificial and outwardly cold 
form of giving, and some of our most popular citizens 
were tormented in their dreams by visions of travel- 
stained visitors and by hearing the small whining 
voice. 

‘‘It seems that our stockyards in the east part of 
town had been inhabited for several days by a small 
colony of them and on last evening they were still 
further reinforced by another small detachment. So, 
either in their exuberance of joy at meeting or in the 
unrestrained desire to honor and do justice to old 


Ibelen Parker 


293 


friends they proceeded to have a spree, in other words 
a banquet with liquid refreshments, though it is not 
known where they got the latter, and then as a fitting 
climax to the event, and in a praiseworthy effort on 
their part to keep busy, part of them broke into Johns 
& Son’s general store, and sorted out about forty dol- 
lars worth of merchandise and cash that they thought 
would be available to their use, or perhaps thinking 
they could sell the goods more easily and quickly 
than our friend Johns. 

“Then this same gang called at a house in the south 
part of town and demanded some money and jewelry. 
Mrs. Newt Smith was alone in the house, except for 
the sleeping children, and was frightened almost to 
death. She gave them all the money in the house and 
her silver spoons. This seemed to satisfy them and 
they moved on. But on the way, just for a joke, they 
stopped a man who was hurrying home, and after 
threatening to make his eyes stick out still further, 
they rifled his pockets and relieved him of his gold 
time-piece. 

“Strangely enough this man was no other than Mr. 
Newt Smith, and strangely enough, when he got 
home safely and learned that his wife had had visitors, 
from the double joke therein implied, his calm 
unboisterous nature seemed for a time to suffer a 
relapse and his words were not calculated for .the 
quietness of a prayer meeting, while an unprejudiced 
witness said this morning that in his great joy he 
jumped up and down, with his hands twisted in his 
hair, and that even when his hat rolled off onto the 


294 


tbelen iParF^et 


floor, in the lightness of his heart, he danced upon it, 
seemingly unconscious of its intrinsic value. 

“Be that as it may, he danced over to the residence 
of our Marshal Jones and knocked so gently upon the 
door that it shivered upon its hinges; and upon that 
gentleman’s appearance eagerly told him his humorous 
story. 

“The Marshal was so tickled that he could hardly 
get dressed, but, summoning his presence of mind, he 
declared, with the intuition of a sleuth hound of the 
city, and with the boldness of a dog after a cat, that 
the jokers were hidden in the impentrable gloom of 
the stockyards and that he would go after them. 

“This he did with great skill, and with some help 
succeeded in rounding up four of the gentlemen whom 
he discovered there. One a tall and, in the blackness 
of night, unearthly-looking fellow, because of his 
white face, eluded the grasp of the marshal so quickly 
and disappeared so completely that he swore it was a 
ghost and thought nothing more of it. 

“It was found however that a great fat individual of 
the party confessed to having such a looking partner, 
and as a freight train passed through going east a short 
time after this, some irreverent individuals have hinted 
that this disappearance might be accounted for sub- 
stantially and not spiritually. 

“Luck be to him, however, shade, night-mare, fan- 
tasie of our doughty Marshal’s brain, freak, skeleton 
of a side show, or whatever he is, and let him go as 
swiftly and stay as long as it pleases his fancy. 

“It has turned out that the gang who had committed 


Ibelen parfeer 


295 


the most mischief had left town and they have since 
been apprehended south of here, but these victims of 
our Marshal’s courage have, no doubt, been engaged 
in some of the thieving that has been going on in this 
vicinity of late, and will probably luxuriate for the 
next thirty or sixty days in the county jail. 

“The editor of the News Recorder wishes to 
express his sympathy for Mr. and Mrs. Smith and 
Johns & Son in this occasion of loss, and to hope that 
the course of justice will bring them the returns due 
them.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


A strange thing had occurred at the mill and it had 
happened in this wise: A somewhat flashily dressed, 
unknown man, had been noticed, one morning, 
engaged in talk with the overseer of that section in 
which Helen and Sade were employed, and who 
had afterward walked, slowly, up and down the line of 
workers, but, instead of seeming interested in the 
machines and work, as was the usual visitor, had 
looked over each girl, as he passed, with a cool, 
searching, if not impudent, stare. 

This look, most of the girls returned with interest, 
and some added thereto winks and grins, for, in 
bashfulness they did not excel and were not to be 
outdone in impoliteness. As he passed, there were 
semi-audible whispers, as to whether he was hunting 
him a wife, or only hunting a new type of beauty for 
de ladies’ page of de newspapers, and also, comments 
as to his personal appearance and actions. 

But, whatever his business, the man seemed to 
single out Sade from amongst the others, and, after 
regarding her for a moment, he spoke to her, and, 
then, Sade threw her machine out of gear and the 
two went over to where the overseer was standing, and 
the three engaged in earnest conversation, for some 
time. 

It was amusing to see the curiosity of the girls. 

296 


t)elen patfter 


297 


Over half of them found some pretext for shutting 
down their machines, and listening with all their ears. 
One or two made errands that would take them into 
the vicinity of the trio in whom they were interested, 
and their movements, as well as the remarks made by 
the girls watching them, were laughable to a degree. 
But, they, after staying as long as they dared, came 
back unsuccessful and this called out various remarks 
that were disparaging to them, and also very uncom- 
plimentary to “luck” which was so against them. 

Then, despairing of hearing the cov^eted “gab,” 
they openly fell to discussing the probable causes of 
it, and to cutting such capers as only such girls would 
have thought of. The overseer, or “de boss,” as they 
all call him, was watching them, fiercely, out of the 
corner of his eye, and had started, once or twice, 
toward them, but had been called back each time, by 
some earnest question from Sade, or some remark 
of the strangers, and, each time, the girls only grinned 
and laughed the harder, and dared him, with much 
extravagant language, to come on. 

Helen was one of the few who kept their machines 
going, but she was laughing so hard that she could 
hardly attend it. At last “de boss broke away” 
and came down upon the others with swear words, so 
that, with much suppressed giggling, they all flew back 
to their work. 

Sade came down the row, eliciting from each one 
she passed an anxious question and some impolite 
admonitions from “de boss,” who was closely follow- 
ing her, so she did not dare to stop, except to speak 


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to Helen a minute, but she gave the others “a way 
up” look, as they expressed it, that made them 
envious and more furious. 

She had whispered in Helen’s ear, “I’m goin’ away 
with this chap; he’s give me another job. Tell the 
folks, and I’ll be home Sunday and don’t worry. 
You’ll stay at de house and see me, Sunday, won’t 
you? Promise.” 

“Yes,” Helen had answered. 

“Well, I'll make it square with you, then. Good- 
bye.” 

Then she had gone, and Helen was left to wonder 
what the other job could be. She was besieged, at 
noon, by questions and was forced to tell, over and 
over, what little she knew, but this was not very satis- 
factory, and there was much speculation, as well as 
much grumbling, at Sade’s failure to give them even 
a hint. 

However, another girl came to take Sade’s place 
and, the vacancy filled, the steady hum of the work, 
and the daily routine of their lives, tended to obliter- 
ate the strangeness of the event, and they came to talk 
less of it. 

Sunday came and with it Sade. Her meeting with 
Helen, before the Maguire home, was affectionate in 
that it consisted of an embrace that left Helen almost 
breathless. She exchanged a few words with her 
mother, said, “Hello,” to Den and her father; gave 
Alf a good squeeze, and then drew Helen into her 
little room and began to explain. 

“The man was manager for a show, down town, and, 


Tbelen parF^et 


299 


being acquainted, somehow, with ‘de boss', at the 
mill, had come out looking for a girl to fill up with 
and, thinking she wuz big enough, had jumped onto 
her.” This was Sade’s version of it, and she had 
brought home the costume she was to wear, and forth- 
with put it on for Helen’s admiration and, later, for 
that of the rest of the family, though she regretfully 
explained that, it didn’t look near so nice on her, in 
the dark rooms, as on the stage with the footlights 
a’goin. 

“She was only a chorus girl, an’ jest had to march 
around, though it wuz pretty hard to keep in your 
place,” she explained, “fer starin’ about and gettin’ 
your partners mixed.” She had had to sing a little, too, 
and, with a little coaxing from Helen, went over her 
piece, i’n her naturally deep and rich, but very untrained, 
voice. “Gee,” she said, “some o’ the girls know 
more about music in a minute an’ I could learn all my 
days, an’ it makes ’em mad ’cause we can’t come in, 
just right, they growl away an’ we can’t say nuthin’, 
’cause de boss, there, is a man that ’ud fright you, he 
fairly makes you jump.” 

Helen, after glancing over the chorus, sang it 
through in a way that brought forth much profuse 
admiration, and extravagant exclamations, from Sade. 
And then Helen tried to show her about the music, 
and the time, and drilled her on it, showing her the 
mistakes she made. 

‘Tf I could only just have you with me,” Sade 
cried, despairingly. “There ain’t anybody I know, 
there, not a one, and you can’t tell how bad I felt not 


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to see you, and, then, you’ll be lonesome, here, 
without me, too.” 

Helen replied that she had been very much so 
already. “Well, why couldn’t you come? I m goin’ 
to strike the boss fora place feryou; they don’t all 
have to be as big as me to b’long, ” she admitted, with 
a grim smile. “There's some little ones, and you 
could sing so much better, too, and you could help me 
out, an’ we’d be together. Wouldn’t it be fine?” 

“Of course,” she said, in a calmer tone, “it ain’t 
just the right kind of a place for you; some of ’em 
booze and they are, most of ’em, a bad lot. ’Twouldn’t 
be just you’re style, to prance around, amongst ’em, 
with a dress on like this, but still, you can’t brag 
much on this crowd, here. De mill work is on de 
bum, for such as you, and if we wuz together we 
wouldn’t mind anything else.” 

This appeal came to Helen more strongly than 
some would have imagined. Her present life, with- 
out Sade, was intolerable and not to be thought of. In 
her society days, the theatre had been the source of 
much of her pleasure and thought, and the glamour of 
stage life, as she remembered it, presented such a daz- 
zling contrast to her dull life, and surroundings, that 
there was almost an irresistible temptation to fly from 
one to the other, if any opportunity should present 
itself. So that, while she stood up beside Sade’s 
heroic figure, and complained that she was not large 
enough, and said that mill work was good enough for 
her, etc., her face was flushed and her heart beat the 
faster from Sade’s words. 


Ibelen parfeet 


301 


She saw that her companion was considerably daz- 
zled by the prospects of a career behind the footlights. 
The roughness of the stage, and the dissipation of the 
actors, which shocks so many aspirants in that direc- 
tion from the higher walks of life, were, to her, 
because of their past commonness in her life, subjects 
of little surprise and concern, — but, at the same time, 
Helen had fresh cause for admiration of the good 
sense and strength of character she showed, as she 
spoke of the advantages and disadvantages of her new 
occupation. 

For a long time, that Sunday, these two girls sat in 
their room talking; — recalling the past, discussing the 
present, and wondering and planning as to the future; 
sometimes merry, Helen laughing and singing and 
Sade “cutting up”; sometimes sitting quietly, regard- 
ing each other, their hands interlocked, seeming to 
come closer together in that deeper friendship and 
communion than ever before. 

To both, in these hours, there was a feeling of sad- 
ness, for they realized that this was the crisis of 
their friendship; that already there had been a part- 
ing in their paths of life, and that, unless quickly 
reunited, they would, in all probability, diverge 
rapidly. Once Sade had declared that she would 
give the “new boss de shake,” and come back to 
Helen, but in another moment, she was planning again 
how Helen was to come and stay with her, down town, 
and go on “de stage.” 

After dinner, Sade went around to see some of “de 
old sports,” as she figuratively called the girls of her 


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Ibelen patfter 


old crowd, and Helen took her accustomed Sunday 
afternoon sleep, so she did not see her again until 
almost evening, and then Sade was obliged to go that 
she might be ready for practice Monday morning, 
Helen went with her as far as, on account of the 
approaching darkness, Sade would let her, and 
returned, feeling as friendless and lonely as on that 
first morning that she had come to the mill. 

Sade had, evidently, improved her time that after- 
noon, for, the next morning, Helen found that the 
news had already spread amongst the girls, and as in a 
prison, when one of the prisoners has escaped, there 
was much excitement and commotion, because this 
girl had left her dull life for that of the dazzling 
brightness of a chorus girl. 

There was the lucid and ludicrous description of 
how “fly” Sade was; how purty her clothes were, and 
how big her salary — to be listened to, from those 
envied girls who had, personally, talked with her. 
And there were varied exclamations, and recollections 
and reminiscences of shows and actin’, from the 
others. At noon they talked about it and at .night, 
after the work was over, they lingered in the old mill 
absorbed in the pros and cons of this, to them, excit- 
ing subject. 

Helen had staid, too, and was listening with 
amusement to the talk when it was proposed by one 
that they should all go, some night, to see Sade. 
This was greeted with cheers and then they fell to dis- 
cussing whether they should wait until Saturday 
night, when they should all have their pay, or, 


TDelen ipatftet 


303 


whether thay could go at once. Some were lamenting 
having so quickly spent their last week’s wages; some 
were advocating one night, some another; the more 
impatient planning to leave behind any improvident 
ones who could not “show de coin.” 

But, in the midst of this confusion, Susie Himet, a 
girl who, with unexpected firmness, had assumed 
leadership since Sade’s withdrawal, began to pound, 
with all her might, with a window stick, upon one of 
the work tables, and, after a while, they began to quiet 
down to see what Sue wanted. It proved that she 
wanted a collection and, after making this understood, 
all agreed that it was for the best, and set to work 
figuring out, to the last cent, what they could give. 
Some, at Sue’s appeal, to “dish up” recklessly throw- 
ing in all, though they knew they would go hungry 
before the week was over. It happened that Helen 
had spent but little of her last week’s wages as yet, 
but she had left it in her room, so, when, after care- 
fully figuring up car fare and tickets. Sue had announced 
that they were nearly three dollars short, and Helen 
had volunteered to supply that amount, her generosity 
elicited cheers and comments of admiration. 

This settled, some of the girls were for going yet 
that night, but cooler counsel prevailed and they 
decided to wait until Tuesday night. So, upon the 
next evening, after hurried suppers, they gathered 
together in the old engine room, having obtained per- 
mission to do so, where there was much whispering 
and laughing and jumping up and down, and much 
good natured raillery and complaining at each new 


304 


Ibelen parfeet 


comer, that “they wuz so late, or their bunnit didn’t 
set on straight, or their dress wuzn’t de latest color 
and wouldn’t harmonize wid de gas light on it.” 

At last they were all there. Susie had asked about 
all of them, from the biggest to the smallest; “If yer 
here just grin,” she had said and they had cheered 
her for that for they were all grinning. They walked 
until they came to the cars, and then, finding they 
could not all get into one car, separated, to reunite down 
town, where they were, with difficulty, lined up by Sue 
and again counted, as, in her distraction of mind, she 
had forgotten how many they were. So, at last, the 
tickets were bought, the door opened before them, 
and they filed down the aisle and seated themselves, 
in a long row, before the painted canvas. There were 
great thrills of expectation and happiness running 
through them, as they gazed expectantly at the great 
curtain or about them at the rich furnishings and 
gilded, decorated ceiling. But, the people seemed so 
terribly slow and uncaring that before the show had 
begun some of the girls, tired from the day’s work, 
were beginning to twist about anxiously in their 
seats, while some were whispering to their neighbors 
that they were about starved, not having had any 
supper, either because of their excitement or because 
of the lack of it. 

But, with the first strains of music from the orchestra, 
all of this was forgotten. Helen was gratifying a 
hunger, that had been greater, and of longer duration, 
than the physical hunger of her companions. She 
had been raised a musician; she had the warm blood 


Ibelen parfeet 


305 


of one which beats madly, or softly, as the harmony; 
she had nerves that tingled ecstatically under its 
persuasion; she had feet that had once been wont to 
glide gracefully, lightly, borne upward by the passion 
of the music, and now she sat enraptured and 
enchanted by it. 

Then, after a tremulous little ting-a-ling, the cur- 
tain came up, disclosed a villainous looking old 
tramp expostulating with a negro servant, because of 
the unsuitableness of a hand-out. And, then, a little 
later, they were joined by the “Missus,” the three being 
the principals in the opening comic sketch. After 
this came the more pretentious plot of the show, with 
specialties of dancing and juggling at the close of the 
acts. It was time for the last, now, and in this was to 
be the grand chorus in which Sade was to show her- 
self and her voice. Helen looked down the row of her 
companions. They were sitting on the front edges of 
their chairs, staring, that not a motion might be lost. 
How coarse they looked, some of them with their 
mouths gaping open, and their coarse red hands upon 
the seats in front of them, Susie Himet’s hair was 
twisted in a shape that would have been hard to define 
geometrically, and Mamie Munn’s seemed to be just 
ready to take a tumble, down her back, Sallie Hick’s 
old bonnet was a disgrace to humanity. (The girls had 
told her that she found it, one day, in an old rubbish 
box, and had worn it, now, for three years.) How 
different they looked from the surrounding crowd! 
People had been watching them, between the acts, 
and, even now, as she looked about, they were gazing 


3o6 


Ibelen l^arfeer 


inquisitively at her. Did she belong in that rough 
group? No wonder they stared. 

But, the curtain is up and here they come twenty 
of them, from two opposite doorways, meeting, with a 
bow, in the center; ten in tights and boots, represent- 
ing gallants and cavaliers; ten, and amongst them 
Sade, with their short dresses, high-heeled slippers and 
red stockings, moving forward with the quick, firm 
step, required in a ballet; pairing, separating, crossing 
and intercrossing; stopping in some combination, for 
a minute, except for the twinkling feet keeping the 
time, and then, at a crash from the accompaniment, 
away they go again with a bound, their bright cos- 
tumes flashing in all the changing and beautiful sym- 
metries of color that can delight the onlooker. 

Presently all except two, who came forward and 
performed some fancy dances, had lined up in a sort 
of semicircle at the rear of the stage. Then all burst 
out in that song in which Helen had drilled Sade, and, 
though the words were mostly indistinguishable, it 
was a very pleasant mingling of voices, and showed 
that there were enough in the twenty who knew about 
music to carry the melody successfully. 

A last bewildering serpentine twist about the stage 
and they made their exit, but, at the sound of the 
deafening recall, came back, and again went through 
some of their maneuverings and out again and, all too 
soon for the girls, the curtain came rolling down. 

They began to rub their eyes and come to them- 
selves, for, in their interest, some of them had com- 
pletely forgotten their identity. Sade had evidently 


Ibelen Parker 


307 


started as she recognized the row. Susie Himet had 
thrown up her hand and had only been prevented 
from calling out by the presence of mind of the girl 
next to her, who had clapped her hand over her mouth. 
But Sade had not allowed herself to forget her duty 
and had gone through her part without hesitation or 
mistake, so that the girls were all proud of her. 
“Who’d a’thought she could a’done it!” ‘‘Sade’s all 
right, ain’t she?” they had said to each other. They 
could hardly believe that she had been one of them 
and that less than a week had wrought this transfor- 
mation in her. 

With a last crash the orchestra had ceased playing 
and the people were rapidly leaving the house. The 
girls had all risen and were standing, wondering if 
they couldn’t see Sade, when she came, and, pushing 
the curtain aside, told them, in a loud whisper, that 
they would have to go outside and wait, that she would 
come out as soon as possible. 

So they retired to the shadow of an alley way and, 
when she joined them, all crowded about her with 
congratulations, but she pushed through them all to 
Helen and, putting her arm about her neck, asked her 
how she liked it. 

‘‘Very well,” Helen replied. ‘‘You did splendidly.” 

“Oh, ’tain’t hard,” Sade answered, overcome more 
by this quiet compliment than all the rest, ‘‘I hap- 
pened to git through without failin’ down to-night — I 
meant to see the boss about you but I ain’t had a 
chance, I will, though; I think you’d like this better’n 
workin’ at the mill, wouldn’t you?” 


3o8 


Ibelen parser 


Helen answered indefinitely that she would, in 
some ways, and then they talked all together and in 
pairs until the pleading of the younger ones that they 
were dead sleepy, and starving hungry, became so 
strong that they had to separate and wend their weary 
way back to their homes. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


The evening after they had visited the theater 
Susie Himet walked home with Helen, after the work 
had “let out.” Since she had, to some extent, taken 
Sade’s place, she had become more friendly to Helen, 
and Helen, while she found, on closer acquaintance 
with the girl, more desirable qualities in her than she 
had dreamed of, would have been grateful for any 
kind of a friend, almost, who could take Sade’s 
place, and diminish the loneliness she had felt since 
her leaving. They had gone into her little room and 
Susie, after examining her few belongings, and com- 
menting upon the attempt to beautify and decorate 
the room, had returned to the subject of their last 
night’s escapade, and was recalling and laughing 
noisily at the jokes and the funny situations, and 
indulging in exclamations of wonder and envy of 
Sade. “Who’d a tho’t it,” she kept repeating and, 
yet, she never seemed, for an instant, to have thought 
it possible for herself to have risen to such a high posi- 
tion of fame. 

Suddenly, she turned to Helen: “Why couldn’t you 
go in de chorus? You’re pretty; prettier’ n Sade wuz; 
nice shiney hair; an’ pretty eyes; an’ yer quick; an’ 
can walk like them, an’ move around better. You’re 
slimmer an’ prettier all over.” 

Ah, that was why Helen had been so silent that day, 
309 


310 


Ibclen iparfeer 


and so preoccupied. That was the idea, that had been 
whirling so swiftly through her brain, with all its con- 
flicting questions, doubts and advantages. Why could 
she not, to be sure? She could sing those songs; she 
could march and trip about as lightly and gracefully, 
as any of them? She was surely as pretty, and, if she 
were called to it, she could dance. She had seen so 
many of the dances in her better days, and had been 
wont to practice them, then, before her mirror, just 
for fun. 

And yet there were thoughts and considerations 
that held her back. Though she was now making so 
little of her religion, she still held on to it or, at least, 
the name of it (as so many do when they have almost 
forsaken the shadow of its influence), hoping that, 
some day, she would be in a position again to enjoy 
its benefits, and feel its power. She realized instinc- 
tively that, should she take that step to the stage, she 
would be crossing the dead line, as it were, and expos- 
ing her remaining faith to its death. 

Her trip down town, the sights of the streets, the 
stores and the cars, had brought the fever of her old 
life into her blood, and she had been thinking again 
of Harry Spencer and some of her other old church 
friends, and the question came back to her: Should 
she go back to them? What would they think of her? 
Had they changed as much as she? They would for- 
get her, if they had not already. She thought of the 
joy when first she had been saved, and the pleasure of 
Christian fellowship and friendship, but now, this 
bond that binds hearts best together, was, with her, 


Ibelen parfeet 


311 

somewhat of an uncertain quantity. A doubt leads 
the way to a multitude of doubts, and possibly the 
feeling of her conscience that she had not treated her 
higher life just as Harry Spencer would have advised 
had served to put a greater distance between him and 
her than the few miles of city streets that intervened. 

The spirit of God had once come into her life, with 
an uplifting power that had rid her of longing for the 
theater and dancing. She had had the solemn and 
impressive, but beautiful, hymns of the church to sup- 
plant the catchy, sprightly and often naughty songs of 
the stage. She had had good thoughts, serious con- 
siderations and holy desires so overcome the old care- 
less, aimless, pleasure seeking in her life, that, even 
after the deadening influence of her present surround- 
ings, this glamour and show of the stage could not 
awaken her old passions and appetite, without arous- 
ing in conflict the better emotions and principles 
within her. 

And so they had driven her to argue: Why couldn’t 
she have just as much religion upon the stage as in the 
noisy factory and in her present unpleasant surround- 
ings? Or, at the least, wouldn’t she? Her life’s joy 
and pleasure had greatly diminished and would soon 
be gone entirely. If there was a God, she must rebel, 
and grow cold toward him, if he kept her in misery. 
There were coarseness and indelicate jokes upon the 
stage, but they were not so bad, perhaps, as she was 
compelled to listen to each day. She knew the cur- 
tain and the footlights hid many a crime, but there 
were many committed in her neighborhood and she 


312 


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was as much hurt by them as she could be if she were 
amongst those who show life’s comedies and cater to 
men’s tastes. In her increased knowledge of life, 
and the ways of the world, she understood, better 
than the girls about her, that the life of an actress, 
and especially of a chorus girl, might be emptiness 
and unprofitableness, and that the fame of it was 
really small and unsatisfying. She was aware that the 
glitter of the stage glittered only from the front, and 
yet, whatever they said of the disappointment behind 
the scenes, surely their lives and surroundings were 
brighter and less irksome than hers. The thought of 
appearing in a short costume or, possibly tights, was 
averse to her sense of modesty, and yet that same 
modesty had been greatly shocked and deadened 
lately and what, after all, did it matter? 

These thoughts had been occupying her mind so 
that, at Susie’s question, she answered quickly: “I 
wonder why I couldn’t?” And then she began to sing 
the song she had heard the night before, with a saucy 
shaking of her head, and beating time with her foot, 
and, as the words came back to her, putting more 
spirit into them than she had shown for some time, 
forgetting, almost, where she was. 

When she had finished she found that her compan- 
ion was too surprised to express any very clear or 
lucid criticism and, because she enjoyed the look of 
admiration in her companion’s face, Helen quickly 
pushed her bed, as closely as possible into a corner of 
the room, and, advancing lightly into the vacant place 
she had made, gave that same song and dance which 


Delen parftet 


313 


she remembered she had once given in the basement 
room of the department store, and which had seemed 
to so pain Harry Spencer and at the same time to 
delight little Mertie Jones and all the others. 

She had looked around in triumph upon their admir- 
ing faces, and listened to their compliments, and 
now she saw the same expression upon the face of 
her one auditor and heard the same applause, though 
expressed in rougher tones and less grammatically, 
without one watching in displeasure as then. — Yes, 
there was One watching above, a Friend. She could 
not forget that and it brought the twinge of conscience 
even as she had felt it then. 

So, she kept to her old place, thinking about the 
proposed change a good deal, and yet striving not 
to, and to put it out of her hopes. Some days she felt 
anxious to go, and her hands trembled and her heart 
thrilled as the hum of the mill seemed to give place to 
strains of lively music and song, and she hummed 
them away to herself, while the prosaic roughness of 
her surroundings faded before the more beautiful mind 
pictures, of an almost forgotten past, or of a conjured- 
up future. Other days she felt that her place, though 
hard and distasteful, was best. 

As for Susie Himet, ever since she had listened to, 
and watched Helen, upon that night, she had been 
convinced, beyond any doubt, that she once had been, 
was now, or soon would be, an actress and to all of 
Helen’s protests and denials she turned a deaf ear. 
She told all the girls and fellows of the neighborhood 
of it and with such effort that Helen found herself 


314 


Ibelen iparfter 


besieged at every favorable and many unfavorable 
opportunities to sing ’em a song or to dance for ’em, 
and, though she excused herself as often as possible, 
she must please them sometimes and every compli- 
ance with their requests was greeted with great 
applause and rough but sincere expressions of admira- 
tion. 

Some of the youths of the factory were, as it was 
expressed, “awful gone on her,’’ and had she shown the 
least return of that feeling there would have been envy 
and jealousy supreme amongst both sexes, but she 
had, from the first, repulsed one and all, acting as 
though unconscious of their near presence — a course 
that had greatly chagrined the youths but had been 
productive of quietness and satisfaction amongst their 
female friends. 

And unlike the more ignorant or less experienced 
girl, whom this praise and attention would have puffed 
up, and caused to put on airs, she went steadily to and 
from her work as though unconscious of any change, 
and, instead of parading her grace and accomplish- 
ments, she seemed always desirous of hiding them, and 
withal w'as so modest and unassuming that she retained 
the favor of those about her. 

They had expected her to go at once to the theater 
and secure a position; they were proud of Sade and 
would be more so of her for they felt she would do 
them even greater credit — but still she could not 
bring herself to do it; her conscience was vigorously 
protesting and she saw, if she was to have any pleasure 
in such a life, she must still further deaden or destroy 


tbelen parser 


315 


that conscience, and this she hesitated about doing, 
fearfully, as some would at taking a human life know- 
ing the consequences. 

Such considerations as these had never entered Susie 
Himet’s head. The theater seemed to her the summit 
of desire, and she could not see why Helen should 
hold back, being sure, as she was, to get a place. For 
herself the factory life was all right and for most of 
her companions it would be foolishness to want any- 
thing better, but this girl was different, her place was 
on the stage and she ought to be there. 

She expressed this in substance, one night, in 
Helen’s room, saying that “she wuz actin’ queer about 
it and that if she got de place all de girls wuz cornin’ 
to see her and Sade again. 

Helen explained that she didn’t have time to go and 
see about a place; that, if she quit at the mill, she 
might not readily get a place and would likely starve, 
as her finances were none too promising anyhow. 

She had said this in a sort of joking way and Sue, 
whether perceiving this or not, had not answered, but 
it turned out had gone right to work to remove these 
objections. On Saturday night Helen was given 
notice that there was “to be a meetin’ an’ she must be 
there or it ’ud be a fizzle. From the prominence’’ 
accorded to her in this invitation, Helen wondered if 
they were going to try to get her to “perform’’ for 
them again and answered somewhat wearily that if 
that was their intention they would be disappointed as 
she did not feel like it. The girl who had been 
detailed by Sue to invite her, denied even having 


3i6 


lbe[en g>acfter 


wanted her to, and, though it was plain to be seen she 
wanted to tell about it, did not dare to on account of 
instructions. 

It was to be held in the old engine room and just 
the “swells” invited who had gone to see Sade, and 
so, after supper, she went down and found them almost 
all there before her. Two huge greasy torches were 
providing ample light, and throwing a flickering, and 
something of a ghastly, glimmer upon the faces of 
the crowd. But what cared they? Alternately danc- 
ing, playing some game, scrapping or debating, they 
passed the evening just as the fancy seized them, and 
Helen was drawn into their merriment, put on to their 
jokes, and held up her side “in de scraps” with a 
freedom of “gab” that was delightful to see, but, all 
the time, she was wondering what was the real cause 
of this convention. Susie had said, with a grin, that 
it “wuz just to pass a soshul time,” but this had not 
deceived her, for she had noticed them whispering 
together, about something that “wuzn’t in de jokes,” 
and had caught unguarded expressions that showed 
her they were expecting something to happen later. 

Presently, when some of them had begun to get a 
little tired. Sue procured a stick and began to pound 
upon a board with it to call the house to order, though 
she need not have pounded so long or hard, this time, 
for they were expecting this and quieted as soon as 
they got the signal. 

Then, without much formality, and bashfully, or 
perhaps we could better say awkwardly. Sue stood 
out before them all and began to talk alternately to 


Ibelenpatfter 


317 


Helen and to the crowd. To the latter she had first 
explained Helen’s position, as she saw it, then to 
Helen she said, “Now, ut de gang has come together 
here, to-night, and has had a good time, they wishes me 
to say as how we want to help you out on your place. 
There is a girl by de name of Jess Roush that wuz out 
of a place, and she can come next week an’ take your 
place in de mill. It’s all arranged an’ de boss don’t 
care for she’s on to de work, an’ then, of course, if 
you didn’t get in anywheres why Jess 'ud quit, but 
there ain’t any danger, I told Jess the place wuz solid 
for her all right.’’ 

“An’ then,’’ she continued, “seein’ ut you helped 
us all to go and see Sade t’uther night, by chippin’ in 
yer coin, we want to put in and start you out right, 
an’ so I’ll pass de hat, and I want everyone to show 
their ’predation to the most of their ability.’* This 
was a climax not to be belittled by further words and, 
so. Sue wisely desisted, and procuring a hat made the 
rounds, much as she had on that other night, and pre- 
sented the proceeds, a motley collection of nickles and 
dimes and even pennies, to Helen with a little over- 
conscious air of friendliness and patronage. 

Helen had been quietly standing in the rear, watch- 
ing these girls, as the hat was passed to them, putting 
in their contributions eagerly, and with a smile of good 
will at her, thought it was a sacrifice to them, not only 
because of the money given but, because of the knowl- 
edge that they were sending her, whom they so much 
admired, and whose friendship they prized, away. 
Indeed one of the girls had burst into tears, some- 


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Ibclen partner 


thing which they very seldom did in the presence of 
their companions, and hid her face on her arm and 
cried out “that she didn’t want her to go away to the 
show, or nowheres else.” “Don’t be a baby,’’ Susie 
had replied with all the gruffness of a commander, 
“we ain’t either, but it’s de place she wants to go and 
we ain’t a’goin’ to hinder, in spite of privut feelin’s.’’ 

This weird scene had been very impressive to Helen 
and had affected her so that tears had almost come to 
her eyes. They were going to have her go, whether 
or no. Well, fate seems to settle our lives, anyhow. 

She called up all the winning subtlety of her tongue 
and spoke to them with the varying, harmonious and 
well modulated inflections of voice induced by the 
emotions she felt — that makes an eloquence which is 
the greatest charm, though, perhaps, rarely found in 
that profession she was to join — so that many of those 
to whom she spoke could not hide the tears that 
elistened in their eyes. 

She had thanked them; she had spoken of her stay 
amongst them, and their friendship; she had promised 
to go as they wished; had spoken of their parting; 
had hoped they would remember her, and had added 
certain words that seemed a little strange to her as she 
uttered them concerning a meeting in another world 
and the value of virtue and “straightness’’ of char- 
acter. She had spoken, sometimes in their terms of 
speech, mixing the most touching sentences (those 
that would have graced an oration in her school days) 
with words that would have shocked and surprised a 
school audience immensely, though, with her present 


Tbelen patFiet 


319 


audience, they only gave further zest and increased 
beauty. 

It was a talk of which these girls spoke in later years 
and by which they were changed to a greater or less 
degree for the better. 

Sunday was a very quiet day with Helen. Sade did 
not come home and Helen had seen or heard nothing 
of her since their visit down town so she did not know 
what was the cause of her non-appearance, but, if noth- 
ing happened, she was to go to her on the morrow. 
She was trying to realize this and looking forward to 
it, yet wishing as night came again that this was not 
to be the last in the home of the Maguires. 

Daylight brings a reassuring courage and so, in the 
morning, Helen set about with a zest making final 
arrangements for her departing, packing the belong- 
ings she had acquired into a suitable bundle for carry- 
ing. As she went by the mill she waved her hand at 
some heads that hastily appeared at the windows and 
then disappeared back to work, but this was not satis- 
factory, either to them or to herself, and so, she went 
back, and up the familiar old stairs, everything seem- 
ing to stand out with peculiar charm, because of her 
leaving, and, with a wan smile, she nodded good-bye 
to her late companions standing by each, for a 
moment, though they said little. 

At last she had gotten so far down the street that the 
mill appeared only a black spot to her and signal- 
ing a passing car she, in a short time, reached Sade’s 
locality. 

She went first to her boarding place but the landlady 


320 


Ibelen parser 


informed her that Sade was away practicing, so, after 
some inquiry, Helen had found the entrance to the 
stage and was wondering whether she ought to go 
in or not, when a man came out, passing her without 
so much as a look and so slamming the swinging 
door, that it, in its opening, gave her a glance inside. 

She could see several persons lounging about inside 
though she could not discover Sade, and decided that 
the rehearsal was not in progress. Pushing inside 
she went quietly up to the nearest man she saw and 
asked if she could see Sadie Maguire. This individual 
regarded her with a listless stare and grunted out a 
negative reply, but, a girl, who was near enough to 
overhear the question, laughing at Helen’s confusion, 
pointed her finger toward one of the opposite wings 
and answered, “She’s over yonder chinning Mc- 
Arthur.’’ 

Wondering at these words Helen crossed over and 
found Sade engaged in a lively conversation with the 
man who had come to the mill and engaged her, and a 
chill struck her as she saw them. She had from the 
first disliked the looks of the man. 

She did not know whether she ought to interrupt 
them, but, in a moment, Sade saw her, and, after part- 
ing with her companion, came to her, and gave her a 
welcome as boisterous . and ready as ever, though, 
somehow, there was a note of the usual quick sym- 
pathy left out and a colder something put in and 
Helen felt this keenly, realizing at once that a differ- 
ent kind of friendship had come into Sade’s ardent 
nature and changed it a little. 


Ibclen parfeet 


^21 

Helen inquired at once why she had not come home 
on the previous day, and Sade replied that she had 
gone to the park and around sight seeing with Mr. 
McArthur; that she was sorry she could not come 
home but — and here she dropped her eyes from 
Helen’s in a way that was new to her and continued 
in a tone that savored of defiance to the tenderer emo- 
tions, and touch of conscience that came to her in 
Helen’s presence — “I couldn’t go both places, and — 
here she omitted to finish the sentence, but her silence 
was fully as expressive as words, “He’s a fine man, all 
right,’’ she was saying. “I told him about de other 
push cuttin’ up at my singin’ an’ he put it to ’em, 
straight, that they’d have to stop it er get out, he told 
’em I wuz as pretty a girl on de stage as any of ’em, 
and good at marchin’, an’ that I hadn’t had no oppor- 
tunities to learn singin’ but that I wuz fast at 
learnin’, and some more o' that style o’ talk, an’, so, 
now, they just look out o’ the corners o’ their eyes at 
me, an’ I look back at them just as hard. They don’t 
say nuthin’, but, I c’n hear ’em, sometimes, sayin’ I’m 
de boss’s pet an’ such low down mean things.’’ 

Helen had listened with surprise and dismay to this, 
it was so different from what she had expected. 

“Is there any show for me?’’ she asked. 

“No there ain’t here, an’ that’s square, I asked de 
boss an’ he said he wuz sorry, but there wuzn’t 
another place. He give me de address of another 
place, though, where they use lots o’ girls’ n said this 
note, if you’d give it to the head boss there, ’ud give 
you a stand-in. Gee, there's de bell’n I must go.’’ 


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t)elen father 


A small bell had tapped, as she indicated, and the 
girls were coming, hurriedly and in various costumes, 
from all over the house, and Sade took her place with 
them, after a parting that Helen could not have 
thought possible from her — Sade — who had almost 
“taken de hystericks,” as the girls said, at her 
speaking of leaving the Maguire home, a month or 
two before this. 

Helen stood in the wing and watched them as they 
were drilled by the man whom Sade had once described 
as being one “who ’ud fright you,’' and she saw that 
besides being very energetic he was very free with 
abuse and profanity if his ideas weren't promptly met. 
She also discovered the other girls “looking out of the 
corners of their eyes,"' at Sade, and realized, with 
horror, that this creation of harmony, bright costumes, 
pretty smiling girls, graceful forms and seemingly 
friendly bows, not to speak of the song which had so 
pleased her the other night, was the product of these 
carelessly clad; sweating creatures, who marched sul- 
lenly about, under the orders and cursing of an ugly 
little old man, their hearts bitter within them because 
of sensations of envy, jealousy and natural hatred. 

Mr. McArthur was standing in the opposite wing 
watching them and there was a smile on his face, 
sometimes, that would be hard to describe by words; 
Sade, if she had been free and unprejudiced, would 
have said it was “a ornery look,’* but she did not see 
it as Helen did and, if she had, it would have been 
from a different standpoint and with a different light. 

Then presently a man and woman came in and stood 


I3elen parfeet 


323 


by Helen. The woman was an actress who was to 
occupy a short period of time in their new production, 
by a performance of her own, and seemed in the day- 
light heavy set and clumsy in form, and coarse and 
dissipated in face, and was, as she proved herself, very 
coarse and uncultured in spirit, for after watching the 
rehearsal for a moment she turned her attention to 
Helen for the fun of it, and talked to her and to her 
companion who was drunk and laughed foolishly and 
indiscriminately at her sayings in a way that, by its 
coarseness and indecency, was evidently intended to 
put Helen to flight. She laughed raspingly and 
forcedly at what she meant to be funny, and made 
remarks on the chorus that were disgusting in the 
extreme. Helen left her and the place, shocked and 
disheartened. 

The change in Sade had been a shock to her. The 
depravity of character of some of the chorus gave her 
an added feeling of sadness, and the downright cold- 
hearted wickedness of this woman, that seemed a prod- 
uct of the immeasurable depths of despair, was that 
last straw to complete a very heavy burden on her 
heart. 

“Was her life to be amongst such,” she kept asking 
herself, and she was wishing herself back in that place 
she had given up at the mill. But what would the 
girls think? They had made sacrifice to have her 
come and she was not doing right by them. Maybe, 
too, she had imagined Sade worse than she was, and 
she would be all right later. 

These last thoughts were what induced her, after 


324 


Ibelen iparfeet 


some hesitation, to enter the office of the other place, 
which was profusely decorated with lithographs and 
posters, and where the manager, a comparatively 
young fellow, sat with his feet upon a table, spitting 
with varied success as the floor testified, at a distant 
spittoon. She presented her note and stated her 
errand, 

“Oh, Jack sent you,” he said, as he finished read- 
ing the former. “Got any photographs?” 

Helen shook her head. 

“You haven’t experience — you never came out in 
tights?” 

She replied in the negative, her face crimsoning so 
that he laughed, saying: 

“I thought you wasn’t an old hand.” 

Then he took his feet down from their elevated posi- 
tion and, turning, spoke more kindly to her. 

“If you wanted to begin, I expect 1 could crowd 
you in though I’ve really about enough, but you’d — 
I’d advise you not, I couldn’t afford to pay you much 
— Can’t you get better work?” 

This man evidently had some regard for humanity 
in its higher sense, or had a conscience that was reach- 
able and had felt Helen’s comparative superiority, 
leading him to give this advice opposite to business 
instincts, and Helen thanked him and went out into 
the street with conflicting emotions. What now? 
What now? 

There seemed an answer to this repeated question 
in the steady, rap, rap, rap of a Salvation Army drum. 
There they go with their tattered flag and weather- 


Ibelen pavhet 


3^5 


stained banner, their blue dresses and poke bonnets 
and brass buttons, stepping cheerily along to their 
marching music. She hastened out upon the crossing 
and looked eagerly into their faces. Most of them 
she did not know but there was the old captain and 
Miss Ames, her face as quiet and beautiful as ever. 
She stood and watched them as they went, — suddenly 
up went the horns and tambourines and there came 
floating back to her that old exultant chorus, 

“Follow, follow, we will follow Jesus, 

Anywhere, everywhere, we will follow Him. 

A great revulsion of feeling seemed to come over 
her, and she turned and followed them to their hall, 
and throughout their meeting she sat seemingly 
intently listening to the songs, the testimonies and 
exhortations, though in fact she was lifting up her 
heart in a private way to God and in the flood light of 
the Spirit reviewing her past life with that swiftness, 
penetration and power that is ohly possible when a 
soul has found communion with this friendly Adviser. 
And so sometimes she was looking at a speaker, see- 
ing his lips move, and yet wholly unconscious of his 
words. At another time some spoken words seemed 
to fit in with those higher letterless words that were 
coming to her, showing her the weakness of her 
humanity and the grace and love of God. How weak 
she had been, how she had restricted and restrained 
and given over her religion until its power had been 
almost nominal; how she had let baser thoughts and 
doubts occupy her mind; how she had been ungrate- 
ful and faultfinding; how she had let her influence 


326 


ibelen ipavfter 


become more that of a show actress, and had led the 
thoughts of her companions in that direction — for 
these things she was blaming herself, and when the 
captain came down and spoke to her at the close of 
the meeting, she asked that she might see Miss Ames, 
and when she had come eagerly to her with that quiet 
smile of sympathy, Helen told her of her life, unfold- 
ing the darkness, the shortcomings and hopes, freely, 
and as a poor homesick child would have to a mother. 

The afternoon of the second day after this, Helen 
might have been seen entering the mill, where she had 
been so long at work, ascending the stairs and passing 
down the “old line.” Her presence was calling forth 
many eager looks and comments, threatening to abol- 
ish the work entirely for the time being, and seeing 
this she hurried along to Sue and spoke to her. 

“Tell all the crowd to meet to-night below, will 
you?” 

“You’ll be there?” 

“Yes.” 

“Couldn’t you get a persish?” 

Helen shook her head and added, “I’ll tell you why 
to-night.” 

The glaring torches in the engine room disclosed to 
Helen, as she entered that night, the motley crowd 
that had given her there a farewell only a few short 
nights before. As she looked upon them, though she 
had passed the last hours of the afternoon in a little 
room at the Mud House, in anxious prayer and 
preparation for this moment — she turned deathly 


Ibelen iparfeer 


327 


white and her teeth came together firmly. They had 
cheered as she entered and had cried out, "Hurrah for 
our little beauty," "Let’s have her dance," "Shake 
hands wid de gang.” "No, no, a speech, a speech; 
give us de spiel first." And this last suggestion had 
prevailed. She was given a box to stand on, and 
then Sue pounded with her usual fierceness with a 
stick upon a board, to "still de gab," and in the 
silence that ensued, with a clear winning voice which 
became stronger as she proceeded Helen told them of 
her trips down town and that she wished to return them 
their money. 

Imagine you their dismay if not disgust, as they 
heard the ending of their plans. But the quick 
vibrant buzz that went through the little audience was 
hushed into an unwonted silence as their speaker in 
broken, emotional tones, but with a girlish, uncere- 
monious, unskilled eloquence told them of the life of 
the soul, which is more than meat or drink and the 
vanities of unprofitable pleasure. 

As she finishes they vote that they "can't blame her 
nohow, that she’s de boss an’ if she’d ruther go in de 
Army than on de Stage it wuz just the same to them, 
but they’d like to ’ave come and see her perform." 
This was Susie Himet’s wording of their attitude and 
there was a somewhat half-hearted cheer after their 
declaration. The money which Helen had returned 
was carefully distributed again, and then she went and 
occupied again that night the little room in which she 
had spent her first night at the mill. 


CHAPTER XXX 


On the evening of that day on which Harry Spencer 
had tried unsuccessfully to speak to Helen at the store, 
he, as soon as he was dismissed, hurried to Mrs. Gray's, 
that he might see her and talk with her there, but as 
she had, he found things changed there and the red- 
faced Irish woman much in evidence. 

After a good deal of questioning and time lost, he 
found “that sich a girl had been there and had gone 
right away agin to see the owner of the house about 
some sticks of furniture as she said she once had, 
though for herself she doubted it,’’ and she asked with 
a great grin if the gurrul had been up to any tricks of 
cheatin’ or the likes of that. 

After administering a somewhat startling rebuke to 
the woman for her readiness to suspicion, Harry 
hastened to the owner and found him just leaving his 
office. Yes, Helen Parker had been there but had 
gone away, he did not even know in which direction. 

About the furniture — had she said anything to him 
about it? The man seemed of a sudden greatly 
angered. “Yes, she thought I had her furniture, but 
I never saw it and I told her so,” and he proceeded 
to strengthen his statement by sundry unconnected 
oaths. 

This in turn aroused Harry, and in his increasing 
anxiety about Helen he would have faced ten such as 
328 


fcelen parket 


329 


he — at least he stood up to the man, and between him 
and the door, with an expression on his face that held 
the man back and brought answers, such as they were, 
to his questions. 

“Did she say her furniture and other things were 
gone?” 

“Yes,” snapped the man. 

“And you hadn’t taken it?” 

“D it no, I never saw it.” 

“But didn’t you have an idea who could have taken 
it?” 

“That old hag, Gray, I suppose She cheated 

me out of the rent. I’ll put detectives on her track. 
I’ll find her and I’ll choke her,” he cried out, fiercely. 

“I went to Mrs. Gray myself. This girl was sick, 
and she said she would store her things right there in a 
room for her.” 

This only elicited a disdainful snort from the owner. 

“Well — do you think this girl. Miss Parker, went to 
find Mrs. Gray?” 

“D it, — I don’t know, I 

don’t know where she could go.” 

“And you think that old Irish woman didn’t take 
her things?” 

“Can’t tell, better search her. If you can’t find ’em 
she’s probably sold them and spent the money.” 

“And Miss Parker did not say anything that would 
give you any idea of where she was going or what she 
was going to do?” 

“No, no, no, she did not ” 

After a moment’s thought, as there seemed to be 


330 


Ibclen patfeet 


nothing further he could hope to learn here, Harry 
stepped outside, whereupon the man hastily closed 
and locked his door, and went stumping off down the 
hall muttering to himself, though as he went Harry 
was tempted to give him a hearty kick for his pro- 
fanity and high temper. 

But what was to be done now. Helen had evidently 
found all her possessions gone, and had come this far 
in search of them, without success, and as far as he 
could see, she had gone without any further or future 
hopes. But where to? Probably back to her old place 
for one night at least, and he had missed her on the 
way, or maybe to his own room to consult with him. 
The more he thought of this last the more plausible 
it seemed. She probably had been waiting there since 
six o’clock. How stupid of him not think of it before. 

So he hurried home, fretting at the slowness of the 
cars, imagining that she would get tired waiting, 
and might, perhaps, leave, disappointed, and without 
any effort on his part to cheer her up. 

But he was disappointed. As far as he could learn 
no one had been thereto see him, so, rallying his hopes 
again, he went over to the house of the Irishwoman 
again and inquired , but she had not returned there. 

Again he went to his room, exhausted and nervous, 
and with evil calamities and gloomy forebodings fill- 
ing his mind. He passed the remainder of the even- 
ing trying to convince himself that her had only gone 
to the home of one of the clerks, or to that of one of 
her girl friends in the church, or possibly back to the 
hospital. 


Ibelen iParftet 


331 


The next day he watched every customer that came 
within sight, thinking it might be she, inquired of the 
girls in the store, and of the manager, who could only 
tell him of their short interview and his refusal to give 
her her old position, and in the evening he went out 
to the home of some of her girl friends, but all efforts 
failed to bring him any clue. 

Another day passed and another. Working in a 
store while one has anything like this occupying one’s 
mind is misery indeed, and Harry was haggard and 
tired out, forgetful and absent minded. He was 
thinking of that railroad disaster which had been only 
a joke of the girls, and which might now be so easily 
a possibility, or of the fever she had had which might 
return with added force, because of her exertions and 
the shock of her loss. He was thinking of her enter- 
ing some dangerous part of the city and entrapped, a 
prisoner and helpless. These are not cheerful things 
to think about while one is explaining the beauty and 
strength and style of a pair of shoes, and when one is 
helpless to act, or even to plan, and so Harry went to 
the manager that night and asked for a week’s vacation. 

This he readily secured and he put it in faithfully 
in searching the city, going on street cars and on foot, 
by daylight and in the evenings, following a supposed 
clue here and some “new girl’’ there, inquiring at 
stores, factories and of policemen, planning system- 
atically sometimes and sometimes wandering aimlessly. 

But what is one amongst so many. The great swarm 
of humanity had hidden her easily amongst themselves 
and how was he to guess that she was working along- 


332 


Ibelen Parser 


side Sade in a woolen mill in the day time, or resting 
and sleeping in a little black house of Maguire’s, even- 
ings. 

He had thought strongly the first day or two of put- 
ting the case of her disappearance in the hands of the 
policemen and detectives, but had decided he would 
try his own efforts first, and he thought to himself if 
she should come around, or he should find her she 
would not be pleased, perhaps, at his making such a 
stir or for having undue interest in her doings, but 
after the week of unsuccessful efforts he was wonder- 
ing again if this would not be best. 

He had gone back to work again, and each day 
passed with him hoping that she would come or that 
some light would be thrown somehow on the cause of 
her absence. Surely only foul play would have kept 
her so long from all her friends. And then came the 
letter — it was with mingled feelings he read it. How 
unlike her it seemed, and yet it was her writing and 
the cause barely hinted at was sufficient. He under- 
stood now. This man — her father — had made off with 
the furniture in some way. He had left word at the 
hospital, perhaps, and they had planned going away. 
She preferred her father to himself. This was a hard 
blow, for Harry was only human, and reformations 
should not stand in the way of love. If he could have 
known where she was he would probably have gone to 
her and tried to banish that barrier of fear and guilt 
that stood between them, but the letter gave no indi- 
cations, and it said she earnestly wished he would 
not search for her, as it would bring only unhappiness 


Tbelen parfeet 


333 


to her and to one whom she loved — unhappiness — 
well, he did not wish to make her unhappy. But why, 
oh why, had this horrible barrier been put between 
them. Was it fate? How often that word stands with 
us for the unexplainable, if unpleasant. Be that as it 
may and whether Harr , had decided that the separa- 
tion was — fate — or not, this letter served to relieve to 
a great extent his anxiety. 

Though now and then, as he thought of it, there 
would come doubts or fears that possibly she might 
have some personal grievance, that he had said some- 
thing to offend, had not been attentive enough in her 
sickness, or that her furniture had really been lost and 
she was blaming him for it; but common sense, and a 
review of her letter and of the past, served always to 
banish these fancies and he had tried to reconcile him- 
self to her attitude. 

So he passed these months at work; with an uneasi- 
ness of heart; with a sterner face than he had once 
had; smiling sometimes, but with a lingering pain in 
the smile that spoiled it; talking less to his customers; 
working more mechanically; going to church more 
uninterestedly; seeming to care for no pleasure, and 
to be without ambition. 

There is a zest in life, an enthusiasm that enhances 
it one third, which, if taken away, leaves duty, that 
other third of man’s nature which is above mean life 
or existence, only. And, in Harry, this first had been 
crushed and shattered by the tearing away, as it were, 
of her upon whom he had placed his affections, who 
had inspired his hopes, shared and increased his 


334 


ibelen parftet 


pleasures and occupied his thoughts, so that he was 
only two-thirds the man he had been. We might say 
here that two-thirds of a good man is better than the 
whole of a poor one, and could Harry have been told 
this, with the right sort of emphasis, and in a not-too- 
sober tone, it might have cheered him a little. But, 
anyhow, he was to be cheered in a better way. 

One day he was busy as usual fitting shoes, when, 
looking up, he saw a Salvationist standing by the rail- 
ing watching him. Something in her face attracted 
him and he looked again — Helen Parker! — Hurrah — 
Hallelujah! There was no word that could express 
his wild joy. Present in beautiful, winsome bodily 
existence, with a smile of recognition lighting up her 
features, with her bonnet and garb of the consecrated 
Salvationist, his doubts, and fears, and questions, all 
vanished completely at the sight of her. Wherever 
she had been, why she had been there, or what she had 
been doing mattered nothing now. 

He arose and went to her, but what he said he could 
not remember afterwards, though he had the impres- 
sion that he said but little and that of not very great 
importance, and he remembered her saying, “You 
cannot talk now. Come to the hall, to-night, and see 
me,” and then she had gone, and he was busy over 
his shoes again with only a card in his hand, a smiling 
face and a lightened heart, to prove that it had not 
been only a dream. 

Needless to say that evening found him one of the 
audience in the S. A. hall. He had tried to find 
Helen before the meeting. There had come to him, 


Ibelen parfter 


335 


after she had left, seemingly a thousand questions he 
should have asked her, but she had been in some open 
air, or something, and he must wait through the whole 
meeting. But she would be in his sight, he would 
watch her, anyhow. And through the whole of that 
unceremonious service he did watch her; nothing 
startling enough was said or done, to attract his eyes 
from her; she seemed the center piece and the reflec- 
tion of all interest upon the platform, to him; he 
watched with amazement and delight her slender fin- 
gers playing over the strings of a guitar; he listened 
to distinguish her voice in the singing; he heard, with 
thrilling heart, her emotionally spoken testimony and 
the encouraging hallelujahs about her. She seemed 
at home, here. Could she have been here all this 
time, and, if so, why had she not come to him sooner, 
or, why had he not thought of coming here to look for 
her? Where was her father? Had she gotten him into 
the Army, too? Had they infused some of the fire and 
grace of salvation into his miserable life? 

So, after the last hallelujah and while the people 
were leaving, she came down to him. He asked, for 
his first question, “How long have you been here, 
Helen?” 

“Oh, over a week.” 

“And why didn’t you let me know?” he cried, 
eagerly and with wonder. 

For an instant she appeared somewhat confused, 
and then she looked up blushingly, and with charm- 
ing coquettishness and answered, “And didn’t I?” 

They retired to a corner of the room, distant from 


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the seekers who had remained, and with whom some 
of the Salvationists were laboring, where they could 
talk without interruption, but they had not been talk- 
ing long when a small, ragged boy came down the 
aisle toward them and, after some hesitation, addressed 
Helen. “The — the capting said you wuz Missus 
Parker.” 

“Yes, I am Helen Parker,” she replied. “Was 
there some word?” 

“Yes, Jack sent it to you,” and he extended a 
crumpled, blackened sheet of paper. “Yir to follow 
me,” he said. 

Eagerly taking it Helen ran over under a light and 
read it, a cry of regret escaping her as she did so. 

“What is it?” 

“There is a man very sick,” and then ashamed of 
her deception she looked him in the face and said, 
“it is my father.” 

“We will go to see him — Believe me, I will not try 
to injure him.” 

“He is very sick. Remember it was because of 
drink that he injured you. Oh, for my sake, won’t 
you forget the crime? All his life he has suffered 
because of his conscience. He may be dying. Won’t 
you try to lighten his mind and make his end easier, 
by saying you have forgiven him?” 

“Why, Helen,” he cried, shocked at the earnestness 
of her entreaty, and the tears in her eyes, “why should 
you think fhis of me? Why should you have hid from 
me and why — are you afraid of me? I have forgiven 
him, not for your sake alone, but because there is a 


fcelen parftet 


33; 


God, and because we say, ^forgive us our trespasses as 
we forgive those who trespass against us.’ There has 
been a feeling in me that 1 could not conquer but no 
hatred or desire for revenge. I have pitied him. I 
have blamed the demon of drink that has been his 
curse. We will go and I will talk to him the best 1 
can.” 

She thanked him and then ran to get her hat and 
cloak and they signed to the boy, who had been watch- 
ing them wonderingly, to proceed. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


Hi Davis’s saloon was not a very aristocratic place. 
There were not so many great mirrors, not so much 
shining, twinkling glass and not so many gaudy pic- 
tures, as in some such establishments. It was heated 
by a small cannon stove, and that cracked, so that 
smoke sometimes came out into the room. The bar 
was evidently old, and had been dented by the great 
mugs and was stained and discolored by the vile com- 
pounds that had been spilled upon it. 

But it was not in a very aristocratic neighborhood. 
The adjacent buildings, and those all up and down the 
street, were no more richly furnished, and no more 
pretentious, and there were saloons, not a thousand 
miles away, less respectable and doing less business 
than Hi’s. 

A short, heavy set individual, who had been coming 
down the street, stopped at the edge of this building 
and looked furtively, and as though wishing to remain 
unseen, inside. As usual, there was a crowd of rough 
men inside drinking and swearing and, amongst them 
were two red-faced, depraved women even outdoing 
them in their vile utterances. 

A moment’s look at them and this individual drew 
back and ascended the rickety stairs, that led up over- 
head, and, partly opening the creaking door, took a 
brief survey of the room into which it opened. It was 

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339 


a small miserable attic room under the sloping roof. 
A small, black, greasy lamp, sitting upon a chair, 
failed to relieve much of the darkness, but he could 
discern a bed, and also that it had an occupant covered 
by the coarse blankets, and, as he stood trying to 
accustom his eyes to the blackness of the room, a thin, 
pallid face lifted itself from the pillow and a weak 
voice called him “Jack.” 

The man went in and up to the bed, then turned and 
tried to increase the radiating power of the lamp and 
holding it out over the bed inquired, “What’s up 
with you. Bill?” 

“Tm sick. Jack, and I guess I’m a goner this time.” 

“Have you had a doctor?” 

He shook his head. 

“Who’s been tending you?’' 

“Sam’s been bringing up my grub,” indicating a 
plate of cold coarse victuals upon a chair, “but I’ve 
got so I can’t eat ’em, an’ I got so lonesome, here, all 
alone, an’ so tuckered an’ scared with the thoughts of 
dying here, in the dark, f’r the lamp’s a goin* out an’ 
I wuz just watchin’ to see how long the oil would last 
— Sam said he wuz goin’ away and couldn’t come up 

again, to-night ” Here he paused for lack of 

strength, but in a moment he gasped, “Won’t you 
stay — Jack?” 

“Yes — yes. I’ll stay,” he replied, wiping his eyes 
upon his coat sleeves. “Don’t worry any more, and 
don’t try to talk; it tires you. I'll get you something 
to eat,an’ I’ll fix you in a little bit, an’ a doctor; we’ll 
have a doctor, but, first, I’ll get a light.” 


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Ibelen patfeet 


His steps were heard rapidly descending the stairs 
and, in a few minutes, he returned with a larger lamp. 

“There, I’ll set it where it won’t shine too much in 
y’r eyes.” 

“D it,’’ he cried, angrily, as a great noise of 

laughter and curses and beating of fists upon the bar 
came up from below, “they’ve got to stop that,’’ and, 
then, his voice softening, he continued: “You hadn’t 
ought to be here; we’ll have to try an’ see if we can’t 
move you. Now I’ll be back in a jiffy,’’ and again 
he left the room and the hubbub below suddenly 
ceased, for the time. 

The face of the sick man had greatly changed. 
There was almost a smile upon his features as he 
pulled up and re-arranged the covers and looked about 
upon the welcome light, and he muttered to himself 
almost inaudibly and almost childishly, “Jack stopped 
’em, yes he did. Jack’ll ’tend me.” 

Presently the door opened and Jack came in with a 
tray upon which were smoking eggs, and toast, a 
glass of milk, some hot coffee, an apple and some 
doughnuts. He had hardly known what would be 
suitable for a sick rnan, and had overhauled the stock 
of a nearby restaurant with a celerity that had sur- 
prised the proprietor, taking those things that appealed 
to his own appetite, and were “handiest.” 

“Here’s a lay out,’’ he said, and, propping the sick 
man up somewhat, he encouraged him heartily to eat 
talking away all the time, and promising to go after 
anything he could think of that he wanted. “Any- 
thing you want, now. Bill, ’cept liquor, an’ you shan’t 


•toeleu parfeet 


34i 


have that.” He saw that Sam had brought him up 
some for there was a mug of it sitting on a box near 
the head of the bed, and taking this, to Bill’s surprise, 
to the door, he threw it out cup and all upon the 
ground below. 

Then he inquired again if there was anything else 
he could get. There was not. What he had was far 
above Bill’s hopes of ever seeing again, and he was 
eating as fast as possible. This was true, for while 
the hand of death had almost touched this man, and 
lessened the earthly appetites, he was evidently, or had 
been, suffering from lack of nourishment, and the 
change from the unsympathy of Sam to Jack’s bustle 
and solicitude had enheartened him and he ate a little 
of the food, with relish. 

When he had finished Jack set the dishes aside and 
straightened up the room a bit and then, moving a 
chair up by the bed, sat down. “Well, y’r lookin’ 
better a’ ready; I sent f’r the doctor an’ he’ll be here 
purty soon an’ then afterwards you can go to sleep, 
an’ you’ll come out all right.” 

But Bill shook his head. ‘T fell better 'specially 
from seein’ you again, but. I’m afraid this is the end 
of me, and a good end too. How I did hate to die in 
the dark. But why did y’r come back to town, an’ 
how did you happen to come up here?” 

‘‘God sent me,” was the startling and tremblingly 
spoken answer. Emotionally he caught the sick 
man’s hand in both of his ‘‘I’ll tell you how it was. 
Bill.” 

‘‘Yer see, the perleece wuz scoopin’ us in that night 


34 ^ 


Ibelen parfeet 


an’ you got away an’ struck f’r town, ’er I ’sposed 
right away you had, but they swagged me an’ put me 
up f’r sixty days in der county jail. Well, of course, 
I wuz kept steady in dere. No drinkin’, nor carousin’ 
f’r two mont’s, an’ the man that kep’ the jail treated 
me decent, an’ every Sunday there wuz some women 
an’ preachers come in and held meetin’s an’ talked to 
us; ’specially one lady as could talk so’t I could 
a’ listened to her all day. She talked common sense, 
too. Bill. Put it to me straight, ’at I wuzn’t doin’ 
right, which, of course, I knew, an’ she give me some 
flowers, an’ I got quite a notion o’ doin’ better. I wuz 
thinkin’ pretty hard, sometimes. I remembered de fit 
you took, o’ de same kind, just a few nights before de 
rumpus; d’you rec’lect. Bill?” 

The listener assented, weakly, and with a sigh. 

“Well, then, I wuz let loose, ’n I come straight f’r 
town, bummed it in, but I kep’ sober all the way, an’ 
when I got here, I wuz standin’ on a corner thinkin’ 
whether I should dive into fat Jake’s place an’ have a 
drink an’ fergit it all, or no. I wuz terr’ble thirsty, 
too, an’ a little longer’ n I’d a went, but here I hears 
’em singin’ up de street, ’bout like they did in de jail 
only diff’runt, an’ I went up to where dey wuz.” 

‘‘After the singin’ they went into de army hall an’ I 
followed ’em in. It seemed like de meetin’ wuz 
’specially good. De man ’at talked, pard, wuz fine, 
an’ when they wuz singin’ the last song this fellar 
said, those who wanted to live diff’runt to stand up. 
Well, pard, that just hit my case. The man in front 
o’ me got up an’ so, ’fore I knew it, I’d got up, too. 


Ibelen parfeet 


343 


Well, I felt some better, an’ then they closed up the 
meetin’, an’ then they come an’ spoke to us that had 
riz up an’ a young girl come to me.” 

“Say, Bill, I can’t tell you how she talked, or how 
anxious she looked. I don’t remember what she 
said. 

“She kind o’ told the diff’rence ’atween men, I guess. 
How much better it were to live like a Christian an’ 
how God loved us in spite o’ our meanness, an’ wanted 
us to be respectable, an’ she told, too, how she didn’t 
use to think about it, told me quite a bit o’ herself; 
said she wuz once just like me an' didn’t have any 
more chance o’ goin’ to heaven, but that now she 
wuz sure o’ it.’’ 

“She made it plain, mate, un somehow I fergot 
about there bein’ anybody else in de room. I wuz 
thinkin’ how onery I’d been and afore I knew it I wuz 
cryin’, I felt so bad and disappointed rec’lectin’ how 
I'd done, an’ what a boozer I’d got to be. It seemed 
to come down on me like a hod o’ brick an’ squeeze 
the life right out o’ me. But, then someone begun to 
pray an’ then I prayed and all of a sudden I wuz freed 
o’ that weight on me an’ I wuz glad, I tell you, an’ 
I’ve been glad ever since. 

“An’ strange I don’t hanker so to drink. I come 
right along by de saloons and had money ’bout me, 
an’ didn’t go in. You know I went right down into 
Hi’s place, an’ they all wanted me to drink, all ov ’em, 
but I pushed ’em away an’ told ’em you wuz sick, un 
they must quiet down.’’ 

The sick man had been listening intently, though 


344 


ftelcn parftct 


the trembling of life’s current had brought shadows to 
his face, and twitching to his lips, “Thought you 
didn’t b’lieve in it Jack?’’ he gasped, with a look of 
incredulity. 

“I didn’t much, but I do now, I — here’s the doctor. 
Bill — right in here. Mister.’’ 

The doctor came into the room and advancing to the 
bed looked the patient over, for a minute. A hasty 
examination and a few questions seemed to suffice 
after that look, and selecting some medicines from his 
case he mixed them up in the coffee cup, administered 
a dose and gave Jack directions as to balance of the 
prescription. 

As he started to leave. Jack, on pretense of not hav- 
ing understood his directions, followed him to the 
door, and the two talked there in a low tone for several 
minutes. 

As Jack came back the sick man beckoned for him 
to come closer: “Jack, I want to thank you f’r gettin’ 
a doctor, but I don’t b’lieve he can help me; I’m awful 
weak. What did he say. Jack? You asked him about 
me.’’ 

“Well, he said you ought ter keep quiet an’ sleep, 
an’ that’s why I’m sorry I’ve done what I have, but 
yet— if I didn’t she’d ” 

“What’s that?’’ 

“Well, I didn’t tell you, yet, how I come to come 
here. You see I wuz talkin’ with that girl quite a 
spell, an’ she give me this ’ere testament, an’ then she 
began talkin’ about her father; that he wuz like me; 
that he drank, an’ all that; an’ that she had had a 


l)elen patfeer 


345 

chancest but hadn’t ever talked to Mm right; an’ that 
she wanted to see him so bad ” 

“What — what?’’ 

“An’, pard, if you’ll b’lieve it, t’wuz your gal, sames 
I’ve heard you talk of.’’ 

The father raised up with almost a superhuman effort. 

“Are you sure it wuz — she wanted to see me?’’ 

“There, I wuz afraid o’ that,’’ cried Jack, covering 
him up as he again sank back upon the bed, “I wuz 
afraid it ’ud rile you up, an’ the doctor said you must 
keep quiet.’’ 

“1 — I will, — but tell me about it, Jack.’’ 

“Well it wuz your girl, an’ she said she wuz askin’ 
everybody about you; ’at she wanted to find you. 
Then when I told her you wuz an old pard o’ mine an’ 
that I thought I could track you some’eres she wuz 
awful tickled an’ asked all sorts o’ question, an’ made 
me promise to send for her as soon as I set eyes on 
you. That wuz last night, an’, so, this afternoon, I 
set out like I wuz detectivin’ you. Went to Hickeys 
an’ around considerable, and then come here an’ found 
you, sick. So I b’lieve it were a good thing I come, 
an’ that’s why I said God sent me.’’ 

“And did you send — for Helen?’’ 

“Yes, I sent young Borkey, with a note, right away, 
an’ that’s what bothers me; whether it ’ud be best fer 
you to see her.’’ 

“Yes, I shall — I want to if it kills me.’’ 

“Well, p’raps it won’t make much diff’rence with 
you, anyhow. I wish I could stop that carousin’ 
down there, that’s a — a lot sight worse — an’ the girl 


346 


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can talk to you the best kind. She can pray fer you, 
too, an’, if I wuz you I’d have her do it, pard, un I’d 
try to pray myself; try to straighten y’rself up with 
God and tell him yer sorry, any way. It seems like 
’twere no use, I know I used to think so, but, I guess, 
I wuz worse ’un you, an’ I feel that I did it. Yer 
bein’ sick couldn’t make no- diff’rence, seems to me, 
er if you should die right in fifteen minutes afterward. 
I’d do it pard if I wuz to live er die; it’s the best way 
to do, an’ you can stick by it that Jack Tarr’ll be glad 
to see you do it.” 

He had risen and was pacing hastily up and down 
the room; he was longing to say more; he felt almost 
tempted to pray with his old companion, himself, but, 
at the same time, there was coupled with his sense of 
inability a strong faith in this girl who had helped 
him, and a feeling that if he should leave it to her it 
would be better. But, why did she not come? Time 
passed slowly; the little room was so short, that he 
passed back and forth, back and forth, back and 
forth, seeming to walk a mile and yet, only a minute 
had elapsed, and then another mile and another min- 
ute. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead; he 
seemed to be sweating at every pore, and yet he 
could not content himself to sit down. 

The look of interest had faded from the sick man’s 
face, and he had sunk into a semi-conscious state. 
Now and then he would cough, and then his breath 
would come in uneven gasps, with a harsh wheeze; 
his eyes rolled uneasily in his head and, sometimes, 
he would groan as though from pain. 


Ibelen parfter 


347 


Was he dying? What could he do for him? He 
stopped and looked at him, a minute; such was death, 
so all men must die. Then he took another turn 
about the room. Was this man to be lost? Was there 
no one to help him? He went up and grasped the long, 
bony hand in both his. 

“Bill!” 

“Oh — oh — yes. Jack. Is it her?” 

“No, she ain’t come, pard.” 

“What is it? D’ye want to speak? ’ 

“How are you feelin’?” 

“I guess’t I wuz dreamin’,” and, then, he began to 
drift back into that lethergy which threatened to end 
in oblivion. 

Suddenly, light steps were heard at the head of 
the stairs, and there was a rap, which, light as it was, 
served to awaken him wonderfully, and at the same 
time to bring an exclamation of joy from Jack who 
hurried to open the door. 


i 


CHAPTER XXXII 


A low-spoken query, which was inaudible to the sick 
man, Jack’s stammering answer, “Yes’m, he’s here,” 
and then she, for whom he had been so eagerly strain- 
ing his eyes, glided through the open door and up to 
the bed. 

‘‘Oh, father,” she cried, after an anxious look into 
his face, ‘‘you are so sick. Why did you leave me?” 
she had taken one of his hands and sinking upon her 
knees laid her head upon it, while the tears streamed 
from her eyes. 

Varied emotions, of tenderness and the affection of 
a father were evidently struggling within him, but his 
lips seemed unable to frame any reply. Then he was 
seized with a violent spell of coughing which almost 
deprived him of breath, and, as his head was thrown 
back, in the effort seemingly to help fill his lungs, his 
eyes fell upon Harry who had entered the room but 
was standing yet by the door. 

‘‘Ah,” he gasped, starting involuntarily. And, 
then, in a tone of half terror, with a sort of crafty joy, 
he added, ‘‘they can’t hang me, now.” 

‘‘No, that’s true,” Harry replied, with some hesita- 
tion, advancing to the bedside. 

‘‘Did yer fergive me for it?” the sick man asked, 
making an effort to extend his hand, ‘‘I didn’t mean 
to. I wanted you to know that I wuz sorry; that I 
348 


tt)elen patfeer 


349 

wisht — that I didn’t go to do it,” he affirmed with 
seemingly unnatural strength. 

"I know it, 1 forgave you — no — I had nothing to 
forgive,” replied Harry in a tone so calm and positive 
that Helen even lifted her eyes to him in amazement. 
‘‘It was against God; he says, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’— 
Has he forgiven you?” 

‘‘No — no — He ain’t — I’m lost.” 

‘‘Yes, you’re lost,” repeated Harry in the same 
quiet but stern voice. ‘‘What do you care for my opin- 
ion of you? I cannot injure, or help you. You are 
going just as much as though you were on the gallows, 
you are just as much lost. You are a murderer; a 
thief; a drunkard; a forger; a blasphemer. What 
does it matter if you come to God’s judgment from a 
rope around your neck, or from this bed? Why did 
you run from punishment here and yet go to such an 
awful punishment without a struggle? 

‘‘Can’t you see what you are? Blinded all the time 
by that one knife thrust into my father’s side. It’s not 
alone that. It is just as much the anger you felt 
before you struck him, and the drinking, before that. 
It’s your character; it’s your unbelief; it’s your 
unthankfulness and hatred toward God. Can’t you see 
how you’ve come to hate yourself? What do you sup- 
pose He thinks of you? What does your daughter 
think of you? She loves you, but, have you treated 
her right? What of Jack? He’s found salvation, he 
found that sin could be washed away and came to tell 
you about it right away. I just spoke to him. He 
says you’re his old pard, but that you didn’t pay much 


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attention to what he said, and he’s feeling bad over it. 
Why, man, if I was you I’d be crying out with my 
last breath for mercy. I’d hold up my hand with the 
last strength I had and cry out to God, ‘Save me from 
hell, why must I be lost?’ He’ll hear you, I say. 
His mercy is more than all the sins of the people.” 

He was standing as he spoke this; his youthful but 
sturdy frame towering above the sick man; his features 
calm, with eyes fixed intently upon him to whom he 
spoke as though unconscious of other things; his 
words, clearly spoken, yet with a touch of emotion in 
them now and then, coming, somehow, with a thrill- 
ing, penetrating eloquence to Helen and to Jack, but, 
on the ears of that other hearer they were falling 
heavily, with a tense overpowering sensation of con- 
viction. 

The face upon the pillow was ashen; the lineaments 
working in anguish his despair seemed almost 
unearthly, unendurable. Helen turned from it in 
horror (Oh, why should he be made to suffer so?) and 
lifted her hands to Harry in mute appeal that he would 
desist, wondering, even then, however, at the impres- , 
sion of strength and forcefulness of character that she ■ 
saw in his face. But he continued in a lower, softer, f 
tone. 

“Don’t say you’re lost. That means you’ve lost the 
last chance of pardon, the last chance of happiness, 
that you have spurned the last chance of goodness. I 
want you to realize what is hanging over you. You 
cannot live long; you know it yourself. My father 
cursed when they told him he must die, I remember 


Tbelen parser 


351 


it yet. He cursed you and that curse seems to have 
been well spoken. Your life] has been cursed; your 
body shows it; your character shows it; your soul 
shows it worse. You can’t redeem your life now; you 
can’t get good; there is only one thing you can do. 
Go to him to whom the curse is powerless, who can 
cleanse your heart and change your soul. It is his 
mercy and his forgiveness you want. I have tried to 
show you how badly you need it, I wish I could show 
you how willing he is to give it to you.” 

“Willing,” yes, Helen clutched that word con- 
vulsively. Lost now, but, there was still a little time 
for rescue. The danger had been terribly shown. 
Yes, they had felt it before but not as now. And 
there was a hope of relief, a certainty of a Savior. 
They must not hold back from him! 

Eagerly, and unmindful of the tears that blinded her 
eyes and choked her utterance, she began to plead the 
Rescuer forcibly for that sinner, as she had been 
lately learning to plead for others like him, and, then, 
she lifted up her voice in an earnest petition of burn- 
ing, anxious, holy words, kneeling still, as she had 
knelt, with her father’s hand in hers. 

And he, writhing in an agony of remorse and guilt, 
in a stricken, broken voice began to follow and repeat 
her words, trying to adjust them to his need; trying to 
put greater force in them and to make them his own; 
trying to see past the blackness of his life; trying to 
find, somewhere, a hope that could satisfy, or rather, 
trying to believe what must, because of the witnesses, 
be true. 


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Jack Tarr was sitting in the chair, bent far over and 
his face covered by his hands. Harry still stood by 
the bedside, and, when occasion offered, put in a word 
that might be helpful. Thus they plead with him and 
with God. “Oh,” cried Helen, “believe in Christ 
that he can save, I know he can; I have seen him do 
it; 1 have felt it; he saved me, and he can save you, 
just as well. All three of us, here, are witnesses of his 
power. Don’t you believe us? Do you think we’re 
deceived, or are deceiving you? Why then can’t you 
believe him?” A moment afterward there came some- 
thing of an incredulous, incomprehensible expression 
upon the face of the sick man, as one who has seen 
something very wonderful, and, then, there was the 
gradual brightening, the passing away of a cloud; the 
impressing upon the countenance of a smile, that could 
only be wrought by that great triumph of freedom 
which transforms a man, and that seems so strange to 
those who will not believe in the Spirit coming upon 
the soul. 

“I believe — he will,” he said, as though to himself 
and wonderingly. 

“Yes — yes, he will,” Helen affirmed anxiously. 

“Pray agin, girl — I want to be sure,” and she needed 
no second bidding. The man had begun to feel the 
pardon; the conviction had come to him that his sins 
had been forgiven, but with the joy was such an 
unutterable regret, and such a heavy remembrance of 
the horror and blackness which had been lifted from 
him that what he needed now was comfort; an assur- 
ance that the divine favor had not been given grudg- 


ibelen ipatfeer 


353 


ingly. In a word he needed the feeling deepened 
that “He hath not dealt with us after our sins, nor 
rewarded us according to our iniquities.” “For, as the 
heaven is high above the earth, so great is his mercy 
toward them that fear him,” and that, “As far as the 
east is from the west, so far hath he removed our 
transgressions from us.” 

Harry recognized something of this need from his 
face and from his words, and, when Helen had risen to 
her feet he held his little hymnal out in front of her 
indicating one of the songs with his finger. It was 
“Jesus, Lover of My Soul,” and comprehending his 
wish she started it at once. How that hymn has 
thrilled into human hearts. As they sang it, there, 
this man was soon sobbing like a child. Below in 
Hi’s place rough, blasphemous voices were shouting 
out some drunken doggerel with interludes of cursing 
and wild laughter, while the barkeeper stood listening 
with a great grin on his face. Above were those three 
glad believers, for even Jack had joined in, softly 
singing 

“Just and Holy is Thy Name, 

Prince of Peace and Righteousness; 

Most unworthy, Lord, 1 am. 

Thou art full of love and grace,” 

while upon the bed lay one whose heart was full of 
smiles, even though there were tears in his eyes and 
coursing down his sunken, wrinkled cheeks. But still 
above that, farther up, were the angels, uniting, per- 
haps, in a rapturous, tremulous, ravishing melody, 
while listening with surely a smile of pleasure sits 


354 


Tbetert Ibathet 


He whose power is unaccountable, whose mercy is as 
the boundless deep. 

So, were one a philosopher, and especially a Chris- 
tian one, this would have served for much thought and 
probably for a discourse regarding this advancement 
from lower to higher. The possibilities of man; the 
possible unselfishness, and the possible debasement; 
the fitting levels; the analyzation of character; the 
searching into of motives; the meaning of expressions; 
the tracing of habits and ancestors. A volume could 
be written from these two earthly scenes. The third 
is too high, it brings in the heights of theology and is 
beyond our poor philosopher. 

So they lingered over the sick man, singing the 
songs that would be fitting, for some time, until 
Harry, making an exclamation that they must stop the 
noise below, went down stairs taking Jack with him 
and leaving, as he wished, the father and daughter 
alone. 

What followed, what the parting words between 
these two, none shall, perhaps, know. At the end of 
an hour, when Harry opened the door and looked in, 
she was kneeling by his side, one of her hands in his 
' the other stroking his grizzled hair. He was uncon- 
scious at intervals and seemed to awaken with a start, 
being calmed again at her voice and the tightened 
pressure of her hand, but he was sinking faster now; 
the lamp of life was flickering uncertainly and with 
diminished power, and, as the gray light of another 
day began to enter the little room, he ceased to 
breathe. 


ibelen iparfeet 


355 


Harry went for food and persuaded Helen to eat 
some and then went to an undertaker’s to engage 
his services. When he returned he stood before 
Helen, hat in hand. “Is there anything further I can 
do? I ought to go to the store, but I’ll get away and | 
come back as soon as I can.’’ 

“What!’’ she cried with a wan smile, “only one 
night has passed!’’ 

“Yes, one night has passed and another day’s duties 
are before us.’’ 

“Could you manage to send word to Miss Ames to 
come? She is so good.’’ 

“Yes, I will see her, even if I am a little late.’’ 

“You are good. Some would have felt hard,’’ and 
she pointed toward the bed with a gesture that 
explained. 

“Helen,” he cried. “I love you. I have tried to 

forgive for your sake. I am not so unselfish, I ,” 

but, remembering where they were, and the sacred- 
ness of death, he forebore, and turned away, after he 
read in her eyes an answer to what he wished to say. 

Jack had heard, too, for he was sitting in the corner, , 
but he had twisted his big feet around behind the chair 
and ducked his head to the lowest in his effort to 
appear unobtrusive. 

So they parted and Helen went back and pressed a 
kiss upon those cold lips, that had in life served their 
master to his hurt, and sitting down thought of a kiss 
that had sealed her decision before, near the Mud 
House, and of other things. 

“Bill” Parker had left this world, but who shall say 


356 


Ibelen patfeet 


that, having at the last been introduced to the Divine 
Friend, he had not been welcomed? That he who is 
stronger than the guilt of sin had not extended to him 
the wedding garment? That arrayed in the robe of 
spotless white, his poor, dwarfed, blackened soul had 
not put on new immortality and ascended to the 
King’s house? Blinking, perhaps, in the sudden 
transition from dark alleys and wretched surroundings, 
and companionship with poverty and wickedness, into 
the blaze of glory and the peace of the blessed, his 
head uncovered by crown or stars of service, but his 
countenance shining with a glad light. 

Who shall say that the father’s curse was not, 
through the son, averted, and through the strength of 
the Redeemer set aside, as far as the east is from the 
west? 

Where, you ask, is Harry Spencer? A quiet, pleas- 
ant-featured floor walker in , & ’s. 

You will see him there. Helen Parker has become his 
wife. You will find her in a certain little set of 
rooms not far from Mrs. Gray’s old boarding house. 
Or, perhaps, glancing under one of those queer poke 
bonnets, you may notice a beautiful face with black 
eyes crowned by waving hair; the face of an angel. 
Yes, it’s she, for she often goes out with the Salvation- 
ists. If you should ever eat dinner in Armstrong’s 
restaurant, glance into the face of your waiter — it is 
Jack Tarr. If you enjoy the theaters, perhaps you’ve 
seen Sade, for she goes from one to the other of them; 
wherever they can make use of her accomplishments 


Ibelen parser 


357 


which are still quite limited, though, as she told Helen 
once afterward, “There wuz a spell ’t I couldn’t get 
my feet in anywhere’ s, an’ had to go back and work for 
de old boss ’mongst de gang, an’ I missed you to home 
so I couldn’t stand it. Things have changed, ain’t 
they though?’’ 


THE END 








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